


Swing of Death

by Ziane



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Smut, Hunter Jesse McCree, Light Angst, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Mild depictions of blood, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Smut, Vampire Hanzo Shimada, bloodsucking, fast burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-07-29 14:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 59,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziane/pseuds/Ziane
Summary: In a world where vampires and humans coexist, Overwatch keeps the peace between the two factions while the omnics recover from the war and try to fit in society. The recent murder of Gérard Lacroix forces Gabriel Reyes, former leader of the organization, to send his best agent to investigate the crime. Jesse McCree will have to unravel a mystery in the company of a most unexpected ally.





	1. Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> The rock opera album Swing of Death by Jørn Lande & Trond Holter has been an inspiration to set the right mood (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧  
> English is not my mother tongue, so there will be mistakes (⌣_⌣”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, enjoy how the Halloween spirit possessed me to write this and finally succumb to Vampire!Hanzo ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)  
> You can check [CaptainNeedsNoSleep](https://captainneedsnosleep.tumblr.com/post/178869603864/i-have-a-fic-gremlin-to-call-my-own-3) portrait of Hanzo if you like because she's the sweetest art gremlin and deserves lots of love ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ) Thank you so much for beta-reading this chapter <333

Southeastern of France, 2069

 

Tonight is one of those dark, gloomy nights where a mysterious fog covers the ground to your knees and the only light comes from a full moon, occasionally sliced by an importunate cloud. Nights where a silver shine bathes one side of the world and the darkness itself covers the other. Enough to see your path but also easy to get lost in the dangers surrounding the city of Annecy and the community of vampires who live among them. Jesse McCree, a reputed hunter, would have no business in a place like this, much less outnumbered and unarmed, but his superior, Gabriel Reyes, assigned him a mission beyond hunting and killing bloodsuckers. These are not the ones you can hunt.

It is definitely not his kind of mission, but one does not refuse to help a friend in need. The news of the death of Gérard Lacroix reached London a month ago, and even though the deceased and Reyes had their ups and downs, for the sake of their past friendship, he ought to investigate the strange circumstances of his death. A cloud of smoke warms his lungs and leaves his mouth in a nervous exhale, anticipating the end of his companionless stroll along the woods. Jesse knows very little about the issue, his boss won’t talk about it even though it clearly pains him, but one thing he knows: when Gérard and Amélie Guillard got engaged two years ago, everything went to hell.

In less than a week after Gérard told Reyes his intentions to quit his job and marry Amélie, his boss went berserk and ended their friendship in what one could call _bad terms_. McCree sided with Reyes. Why marry a renowned vampire when you are the leader of Overwatch? An organization created to protect humans from bloodsuckers? It made no sense; the man was mad, or what McCree always said: a fool in love. The quarrel didn’t make the news of his death sting any less, and Reyes suspects there’s more behind it than a fortuitous heart attack. In any case, he is there to find out who killed him and why.

Above the top of the softwoods protrudes the tile roof of the Château Guillard, the estate of the Guillard family that has benefited from Lacroix’ wealth and filled the coffers with a very convenient marriage. The only sign of its troublesome past is the building’s disrepair and the illusion of a power waned after the family fell into the claws of the vampires. And yet the sight of the impressive mansion is breathtaking. The place looks otherworldly, and McCree admires the single circular tower that menaces to scratch the sky. He tosses his cigarette on the ground and looks up at the arch welcoming him inside and into a gallery covered in countless paintings and canvases. The long, and dimly illuminated gallery reverberates with laughter and loud conversations from the ballroom, and McCree dreads the politeness he will have to feign if he wants to get out of there alive. A nightly celebration between vampires and sympathizers it’s not to his liking. At least he skipped dinner -fearing to become a course- and arrives fashionably late.

The conflicts in the modern world mean nothing to these people. Hiding in every corner of the world, they live in a permanent masquerade ball with too much time to spare. While humans live short lives marred by the dangers of these creatures, the elite of society gathers and mingles with them in a futile desire for eternal life. But McCree knows there’s nothing more than an eternity in the darkness. He’d rather live a life in misery than risk a bite that would suck the life out of him in exchange of his soul.

The balance is delicate, vampires feed on humans, and they aren’t stupid to kill them all in a frenzy. There are one or two crimes now and then. On his last mission, McCree captured and killed an enraged vampire that went on a killing spree for a weekend, leaving young beautiful men abandoned in the streets, several per night, drained from their lives and the only thing marring their bodies were two dots on their necks. Those are the ones Overwatch pursues, captures, and punishes accordingly because there are always willing humans who let vampires feed on them freely. As long as the vampires hoard power and money it will be difficult to eradicate them, but they like to be the elite and to be worshiped by the supposed gifts they can offer. Their population is highly controlled by their own sacred and ancient rules, the Talon council gives only so much freedom to create a partner, or several. As long as you offer to the vampire society more than you take they’re happy to oblige. In the end, vampires, humans, or omnics, it all comes down to money.

The intense lights of the ballroom seep through closed doors, and McCree stops in front of a full body mirror to take a peek at himself. He feels like a clown dressed for one of their parties with black breeches, that, to be fair, hug his legs in a very flattering way; a grey paisley ascot vest underneath a black jacket and his always trustworthy Stetson topping his head. He sneaks a finger underneath the too tight cravat and mumbles a curse. He’s been invited to this charade, well, at least his boss was and now it’s too late to flee from there. The annual masquerade of the family Guillard is a well-known event among high peers of society, and even though the death of her husband happened a month ago, that didn’t prevent the recently widowed Mrs. Lacroix to carry on the family tradition.

As soon as his spurs clink on the checkered marble floor of the ballroom, an intent murmur fills the atmosphere. “Howdy.” McCree tips his hat politely with a full-blown grin on his face, perusing over many unknown faces, some covered behind a Venetian mask and some unashamed of their presence there. Humans, vampires, and omnics celebrating their decadence, and he couldn’t be more out of place. Suddenly coming here unarmed -even with the promise of being welcomed- seems even more foolish, but sometimes a hunter has to mingle and look like a prey to find his reward. And he will have free access to the castle for the rest of the night to sneak around and find proof of what truly happened to Gérard. At this point, any hint or clue to follow would help his case.

The scathing multitude unfurls to make a way for their hostess. An enrapturing Amélie Lacroix wears a low bodice that enhances the lush curves of his breasts and hugs full hips that would drive a man insane. The navy-blue velvet fabric envelopes her figure as she sashays her way toward him. No wonder Gerard lost his head over her. McCree walks to meet her with all the aplomb he can find in himself, taking her outstretched hand, bending his waist and bowing for a kiss that never touches her freezing hand. She still wears her engagement ring and wedding band and surely doesn’t look like a mourning widow. To McCree, that’s the confirmation of what happened to Gérard Lacroix by the hand of his own wife.

“M’sorry for your loss, ma’am,” McCree mutters.

“Thank you, Mr. McCree for attending in Gabriel’s name, and welcome to my home,” Amélie says, squinting eyes, scrutinizing him. “We are all devastated, but I know my husband would have wanted me to maintain tradition and gather all our friends to celebrate life.” It takes the better of him not to snort, and a brief half-smile is his answer. The party resumes and the guests lose their interest in him quickly. Newcomers in town always raise suspicion and admiration in equal measure, and they know who Jesse McCree is and who he works for. “I hope you don’t bring trouble to my party.”

“Overwatch has nothing against civilized vampires,” McCree says, a grin stretching his lips while he refuses a glass of wine from a waiter with a gesture of his hand. “And Gabriel Reyes sends his regards.”

Amélie links her arm around his elbow, pressing her side against his arm and strolling two abreast the impressive ballroom presided by three identical chandeliers one after the other. People dance near the orchestra, some chat reclined in the arranged settees around the room and others, drink in hand, admire the beautiful landscape from the spacious terrace. McCree has to concede the full moon is a beautiful sight tonight, another thick veil to cover the horrors of the reality behind pretty things. The widow spared no expense in this year’s celebration. Nothing here suggests not long ago the Château Guillard was crumbling in ruins. With Gérard alive she managed to invest his fortune in her old family residence, what will she do now in full possession of Lacroix’ heritage?

“Is everything to your liking?” She says in an unemotional tune.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for the invitation,” McCree says, taking in the sumptuous place and trying to find familiar faces that could throw some light to the events. “I know it must be hard for you.”

“Not at all,” Amélie says, her lips curling upward. “I always considered Gérard’s friends my own, regardless of the circumstances…” her words seem sincere, her smile seems sincere, and yet there is something that bristles all the little hairs at the back of his nape. An omnic approaches them decisively and interrupts the uncomfortable silence. “Oh, Maximilien, mon ami. Let me introduce you to Jesse McCree.”

“I have to say, ma chère, that every year your guests are more bizarre,” Maximilien says, extending a polite hand to McCree. He takes it, unable to read an expression in the face of an omnic. Maximilien needs no introduction, he’s the head of the omnic supremacy, a _diplomat_ who wants peace between humans, vampires, and omnics but that McCree and Overwatch know only craves for power, money, and resources. It is no surprise he is here as many of the vultures orbiting the widow now that she is rich and available, and by the familiarity in which Maximilien treats her and the freedoms he allows himself near her, that’s exactly his goal. “Can I steal you, chérie?”

“I’ll be yours in a moment,” Amélie excuses herself. His eyes glare in red for a moment.

“Don’t take too long,” Maximilien mutters. McCree never thought he’d recognize impatience in an omnic’s voice and yet there’s so much more in the heavy atmosphere around the three of them that you could cut it with a knife. Her smile disappears as soon as Maximilien joins the other guests, and she squeezes McCree’s arm seeking for relief as though in the whole ballroom, he was her only friend.

“I know we don’t know each other,” McCree whispers. “But are you okay?”

“Not here,” she bluntly says, searching for something or someone in the crowd. “Too many ears and eyes.” Amélie finds what she was looking for and drags McCree as discreetly as she can toward two dark-haired men who seem to enjoy a serene conversation with their backs turned at them. McCree looks at her puzzled, drinking in her beauty and once again, understanding how a man could leave everything in his life just to wake up beside her every day. Amélie is a sight to…

McCree’s heart leaps when a long-haired stranger turns about and locks eyes with him. The perfectly arranged ponytail that falls to the front from one his shoulders lets a strand of hair loose at one side of his face. Onyx eyes and a perfectly trimmed goatee, in perfect unison with the sharp features of his face, like a diamond cut and polished by an artist. The room spins, but he couldn’t care less, he is besotted at first glance by that man. Now, _he_ is a sight to behold. The stranger bares his teeth in a supercilious smirk. A sight to behold and a damn vampire.

“I want to introduce you to the Shimada brothers,” Amélie says. “Jesse McCree, this is Genji Shimada.” Also a vampire. He extends a friendly hand that goes with a devilish grin that sends a frisson through his body. McCree takes it, shaking twice and feeling a familiar coldness at the touch. A green velvet tailcoat hugs his frame and matches the green emerald brooch that holds his cravat in an elaborated knot; cream breeches top the outfit. It’s not the first time he’s around vampires; they coexist with humans in a fragile symbiosis, they were human once. But McCree is used to judging and killing them for their crimes, to deal with the lowest of their kind, and he is suspicious until proven wrong. Vampires were out of control until Overwatch was created.

“My pleasure,” Genji says.

“Nice to meet ya’,” McCree mumbles, narrowing his eyes at the vampire and watching how the light plays tricks with his eyes that seem black but glitter in red.

“And Hanzo Shimada,” Amélie curls the corner of her mouth upward. McCree swallows his sudden infatuation with the man and takes his hand politely, lingering a bit when the vampire locks eyes on him as though he could rip his soul apart with one look. He mumbles an inaudible curse, unable to remove his gaze from the pointy fangs that should look menacing but adorn a smug smile he finds terribly arousing. It’s not uncommon to be attracted to them, they’re predators, equipped with beauty and endless charms to lure their preys, but this is outrageous, his hands are clammy, his heart goes for a sprint and lower parts of his body scream an arousal he should be ashamed of.

“Lovely party so far, Amélie,” Hanzo says, freeing his hand and granting him a sidelong as he speaks. “A pity you missed dinner, Mr. McCree.” Genji chuckles at what is supposed to be a bloodsucker recurrent joke and soon, Hanzo and Amélie join him. Out of place would be an understatement right now, and Reyes owes him more than a year’s wages for this.

“I ain’t a snack,” McCree retorts.

“My dear, don’t mind our tainted humor,” Amélie says. “We’re harmless.”

“Most of the time,” Genji adds, sipping what McCree guesses is a goblet filled with human blood.

“Unless I am thirsty,” Hanzo says in a sultry whisper directed to him. McCree’s stomach clenches in a knot of fear or… something else, at the strange feeling that the vampire is flirting with him.

 _Not_ _gonna_ _happen,_ _darlin_ _’_ , he thinks inwardly. McCree pats his right hip looking for Peacekeeper and finding an emptiness that shrinks his heart. He’s defenseless in a room full of vampires and, though he feels no imminent danger ready to jump on him, he’s on alert and cannot distract himself with useless conversation when he has an ongoing mission to accomplish. The three vampires resume their relaxed banter, and he lets his eyes wander over Hanzo, drinking in a sight he hates to find bedazzling and breathtaking. A red velvet tailcoat with damask black embroidery envelopes his figure in an intimate hug, standing out over a black vest and a matching cravat and tie. Sober but extremely alluring, as the man himself, who grants him playful smiles unexpectedly as he speaks with his other companions.

“I should go to Maximilien,” Amélie says, bowing her head and freeing his arm for the first time since the moment he crossed the threshold into her party. The situation is so surreal he needs to get out of there. He feels intoxicated, heady and light-headed by the atmosphere, the people and the subtle smell of blood and iron clinging to his clothes and driving him mad. And the possibility to stay trapped between the two Shimadas curls his spine in desperation.

“If you excuse me,” McCree says, clearing his throat and feeling the three pair of soulless eyes staring in his direction. “I wish to freshen up and enjoy the rest of the night.”

“Of course,” Amélie says. “Be my guest.” The three of them follow McCree with curious eyes while he leaves the ballroom, shouldering his way out as though he was running away from his worst nightmare.

“An interesting ally,” Hanzo says, smiling to his dear friend Amélie.

“I hope so.” The intent sigh that pretends to leave her lungs is one that doesn’t go unnoticed. “I don’t know for how long…”

“Go, we’re here for you,” Genji says, kissing her lifeless cheek with purplish lips.

“Merci,” she says. “I don’t know what I would do without you two.” Amélie leaves the safety of their company to join her other guests, Maximilien among them, taking her hand and linking her arm around his in a gesture that should be comforting but makes Hanzo grit his teeth.

They left Japan as soon as Amélie’s news reached them and arrived right to attend her husband’s funeral. It was heartbreaking to feel useless when a dear friend suffers from a tragedy brought on her new family. They were there to lend a friendly hand and a shoulder to cry, and by the Shimada name, they will help her until justice has been served.

“I should go find our new acquaintance,” Genji says, leaving the empty goblet in a passing-by silver tray.

“You would not dare!” Hanzo hisses. “He is mine, brother.” He sports a mischievous smile Genji recognizes to perfection after so many centuries together.

“I literally saw him first.” Genji purses his lips and leans on a marble column. Hanzo glares at him, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and ready to hunt his prey. Amélie needs his help, and who is he to deny it if part of the plan is to play a little with a handsome vampire hunter? “Come on, Hanzo,” Genji protests. “Good brothers must share.”

“That is not going to work for me, you see,” Hanzo says, chuckling softly and amused at his brother’s eagerness to mingle with the gunslinger. “I do not share my meals.”

“Fine!” Genji rolls his eyes until he sees stars. “I don't think you will get your teeth into him.”

“Do not underestimate me, Genji," Hanzo hisses. "You get to eat the next sexy, sweet treat that crosses our path.”

“Sexy, huh? That easy?” Genji lets out an impertinent guffaw. “I thought centuries would’ve made you more finicky.” Hanzo breathes out through his nostrils as he glares one more at his annoying brother, but a smug smile returns hastily to his lips because after all, he is the winner of the squabble and those gentle, whiskey-colored eyes are his for the night.

McCree splashes cold water on his face, groaning his frustration at the strange place and guests that roam the mansion. On his way to the bathroom, he saw things that made his blood boil, vampires feeding freely from willing humans, taking their blood along with their pleasure in darkened rooms. The noises coming out of them sent a mixed sentiment to his heart. Memories of years ago invade him treacherously, when he was naïve and got involved with the Deadlock gang, hunting vampires for fun and immersed in a world of crime, drugs, and weapon smuggling. He was lucky Gabriel Reyes recruited him instead of throwing him into a brig to throw the key after.

At least now McCree carries a life he can be proud of. He still considers himself a killer, but he kills the bad guys, the ones who threaten the illusion of peace they live into. He got involved with vampires in the past, never too far, but he understands what they are and how they behave. They are so ingrained in their society now that would be impossible to get rid of them. Truth is, vampires and humans can coexist in the same world, the problem is the struggle for power between the two factions -and now the omnics- is causing the death of many innocent people. The common sense left in him warned him to stay far away from the vampires in his personal life, and he can say that is the only thing he has truly succeeded in his adulthood. He picks up his hat and puts it back on.

When he comes out of the bathroom, McCree ignores the path he came through and instead, he follows the stairs to the second floor, finding more couples and groups in the most unexpected corners, but never granting them more than a glance to go unseen. The atmosphere is creepy and suggestive at the same time, masks hiding their true selves and letting loose all the darkest fantasies. His spurs clink his way up the inlaid marble floors, and he peeks every room he passes until he finds exactly what he was looking for: the library and the adjacent study.

McCree enters the double doors and closes them behind him. The room is barely illuminated by several dim wall lamps, just enough to find his way. He paces the room, inspecting behind the settee and the drapery just in case there is someone there, but the library, far from comfortable for a tryst, is empty and ready for inspection. He finds the desk in the middle of the study and busies himself opening the drawers and messing with papers, mostly in French. At the bottom drawer there is a picture of Gérard, Gabriel, and Jack in their youth. On the back it reads _London, 2045_. They seem to be at the front of an unfamiliar building, big smiles that hint they were starting something new and exciting. McCree sighs, leaving the picture in the same place he found it and continuing his rummaging in Gérard’s belongings without noting the silent dark figure that enters the study and stands near the curtains, inspecting his every move.

It is weird the first thing Hanzo noticed about McCree were his eyes. It is an undeniable truth than you can glimpse the soul of a mortal in them, but those are two wells of fondness hidden by a façade of deadliness and peril. Hanzo’s cup of tea. He reads a loneliness and a thirst in them that could match his own, and he’s had centuries to dwell on it. Hanzo takes a sidelong at how the breeches frame the curve of his ass, delighted in the thorough search that will lead to nothing. Yes, with that ass it is truly unbelievable he fell for his eyes. He clears his throat elegantly.

McCree turns about to the source of the noise with a letter opener in one hand. “Holy shit,” he curses when he spots Hanzo and recognizes the dark eyes and the alabaster complexion smirking at him. “I thought you guys sucked blood not gave heart attacks.” McCree leans on the desk, taking his Stetson off and running a clammy hand through his hair.

“A stake is more effective,” Hanzo quips, pointing at the sharp object still in his hand. He prowls toward him, a hand playing with the lapel of his coat while he studies the man in front of him.

“If only that were true,” he chuckles. “I find a silver bullet to the heart slows you down pretty good, but decapitation is your kind’s soft spot.”

“I know exactly who you are, gunslinger,” Hanzo drawls. “I smell a hunter from a mile away, and you smell particularly delicious, I must confess.” McCree swallows a lump on his throat, his tense muscles, and his ready to jump stance betraying the relaxed pose as he reclines on the desk. His heart thumps in his chest every step Hanzo gets closer to him. The damn infatuation is back.

“What do you want from me?”

“We were expecting your boss tonight, but you will have to do,” Hanzo whispers, getting close enough to inhale his musky scent but not enough to touch or feel his warmth, a feeling he craves and faintly remembers from when he was alive.

“I’m unarmed but I ain’t helpless, darlin’,” McCree threatens, holding the desk with white-knuckle force and anticipating a row in which he will fight for his life with everything he has. If the vampire doesn’t kill him straight just for that endearment.

“I have no intention to harm you or kill you, gunslinger,” Hanzo whispers, the corner of his mouth pulling upward in a half-smile that seizes his breath. “But we need your…” Hanzo stops, closing his eyes for a moment. “Someone is coming.” Before McCree can protest, a firm, icy hand covers his mouth while Hanzo nestles between his legs, pressing his whole body-length against him. He purrs like a kitten, pleased at the speed-up heart, and the ragged breath puffing on the palm of his hand. “Delicious,” he teases in a sultry whisper before he releases him, his hands sneaking over his shoulders and bristling all the little hairs at his nape in a cold and fucking sensual embrace.

“I told you, I ain’t your food,” McCree whispers, glancing nervously at the door but finding no one there. “My blood is mine,” he mutters. Far from the clear order his brain gives to his muscles to step away as fast as he can, McCree freezes in Hanzo’s hold. It isn’t harsh or demanding, it’s soft and way too gentle. He stays because he wants to and because there is no danger. At least not one he isn’t willing to take for the obvious surge of pleasure he gets from the vampire’s proximity. He should be ashamed of himself, and yet he stays stock still, his breath dropping to his normal tempo, his body relaxing underneath those strong arms that claimed his shoulders.

“I like to ask for my food’s consent first,” Hanzo teases. “Then I bite.” If he could exhale a breath, it would have gone right into his parted lips. What a shame.

“Nobody’s coming,” McCree arches a questioning eyebrow. Hanzo cocks his head to a side and suddenly, a human couple stumbles his way to the settee between chuckles and urgent moans. They fall in a mess of limbs and too many layers of clothes in the small surface, and they don’t seem to have noticed their presence either. “At least they’re having fun.”

“We better pretend we are entertained with ourselves and not meddling in Lacroix’ matters,” Hanzo whispers, pressing closer and baring a row of predatory teeth in a devilish grin that only a fool would call a smile. And to top it all, he chuckles softly at the slight show of struggle on his part.

“What were you saying?” McCree asks to distract himself from the marble statue pinning him to the desk. Even if he is taller, the reclined position leaves them at the same height, and if those eyes looked mesmerizing from afar, close enough they’re the most beautiful dark wells he has ever seen.

“A Trone d’amour…” Hanzo says, ignoring blatantly his question. “Perfect, easy to remove.” He caresses the soft and stiff fabric of his cravat, watching the pulse point right above the seam and feeling a thirst he didn’t remember since his first days as a vampire. But his self-control is remarkable, honed in centuries. Hanzo has his reasons to feed only from consenting humans, but Jesse McCree could send years of restraint and discipline to hell. Two greedy hands groping for his ass and pushing him closer into what seems a very aroused gunslinger brings a smug smile to his lips and makes him forget the urge to strip his neck and bite and suck the thick warmth of his blood.

“I’m just playing my part,” McCree says, a subtle blush covering his cheeks that don’t escape his vampire eyes. “I’d never hit on a bloodsucker.” Hanzo snorts.

“There are parts of you that disagree with that statement,” Hanzo says, arching an eyebrow at him and making a strong point by brushing right into McCree’s hard bulge with a sway of his hips. He mumbles a curse, glancing at the library and at the source of a blue streak of moans, pleases, and mores that come out of both lovers with no restraint, thinking themselves alone in the room. He could always blame them for the inexplicable hardness in his groin. “And the heat coming from…”

“I’m just well packed, darlin’,” McCree mumbles, cursing once more his weakness and why hasn’t he pushed him away yet and, instead, is enjoying the gentle grinding of their bodies a bit too much. If someone had told him that morning that he would get a mean boner because of a sexy vampire he would have laughed in their face.

“That you are.” Hanzo’s sultry praise goes right to his cock.

“Tell me what you want,” McCree hisses, squeezing with his hands and finding a softness he wasn’t expecting, but the infused courage demanding information from him vanishes when Hanzo hides his face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling behind his ear while a honeyed voice fills his brain and threatens his sanity.

“Vampires do not care about a crime involving a human,” Hanzo whispers, his lips barely caressing his skin. “But Amélie is my dearest friend and we know you are here to investigate.”

“Why do I suspect this is bigger than I thought?” McCree whispers back, his nose buried in black, silky hair that tickles and fills his nostrils with the scent of cherry blossoms.

“Because this escapes everyone’s jurisdiction…” A loud moan from the other room interrupts Hanzo, and the vampire maps the expanse of his chest with a cold, greedy hand, leaving the safety near his neck to look into his eyes. A half-smile reveals a pointy fang and McCree finds himself wondering if his lips are as velvety as they seem to be. Hanzo notices and his smile widens.

“Don’t look at me like I’m dessert,” McCree whispers, and Hanzo chuckles at those words. “You’d be prettier if you were alive.” At first, a shadow crosses his eyes and menaces to steal his smile, but the vampire composes himself.

“Am I pretty?” Hanzo purrs, his hand sneaking inside his vest, his thumb finding expertly a way to a perked nipple that aches for a soft touch.

“You ain’t ugly for a vampire,” McCree teases, unable to help a smug grin. Hanzo growls between pleased and frustrated, motioning himself so his muscled thigh brushes intently against him. “Two can play that game, sweetheart.” McCree grips his ass and bends his knee enough to catch Hanzo in a similar trap, surprised to find him sporting a not at all disappointing erection. An intent moan reaches their ears and McCree blushes in a mixture of envy and embarrassment at the situation and the closeness between their bodies.

“Do not worry,” Hanzo whispers, his hips rocking slowly and offering a much-needed friction for both. “They are almost finished.” McCree chuckles, a hand following the swiveling of his hips while the other roams his way up his back, following the length of his body and a sinuous spine until he cups the back of his head. He has to suppress a moan at the silkiness of his hair, and his cock twitches in interest at a very precise thrust. “You are quite there too,” Hanzo teases.

McCree wants to send him to hell, to tell him to back off, to step away, but he swallows his pride, hopes for the moans he listens are the final ones from the coupling couple and gives the last squeeze to that vampire ass. “You usually do this with strangers you just met?” McCree asks, yielding to the vampire’s bawdy humor.

“Never with food,” Hanzo teases with a sultry smirk, slowing his movements with obvious regret. The couple stands from their love nest between laughs, rearranging their clothes and leaving from there as fast as they can when they finally spot them hunched over each other on the desk. The click of the double doors closing marks the end of the farce, and yet they linger for an instant in their luscious embrace. McCree hesitates to push him away or to bring him closer. If he had drunk something tonight, he would blame it in every innocent drop of alcohol in his system, but it isn’t the case. And Hanzo braces himself with both hands on his chest, clearing his throat at the two hands still keeping him in place. McCree ghosts his fingers on his nape in contrast with the demanding hand fondling his ass. “Perhaps we should…” Hanzo murmurs.

“Yeah,” McCree says, his hands coming back to the desk in a rush while Hanzo steps away, rearranging his tailcoat and glimpsing, out of curiosity, the not-so-subtle outline of a hard cock trapped in McCree’s breeches. A smug smile stretches his lips and bares his teeth even though he knows he isn’t in a better condition. “Now what?” McCree barks, cursing the raging cockstand straining his breeches and all because of a damn vampire.

A loud scream startles them and both walk swiftly toward the library. More shouts and a racket that is truly disturbing and out of place in the middle of a masquerade echoes through the castle, the faint murmur of music stops, and when they get out of the double doors, a strangled cry for help fills the atmosphere. “Goddamnit,” McCree curses, walking surefooted toward the balustrade of the stairs. “Vampires and humans having a good time peacefully is all smoke and mirrors,” he mutters. “I bet someone _killed_ someone.”

“Impossible,” Hanzo hisses. “Not at this party.” Hanzo joins him, gripping the balustrade with white-knuckle force when he watches helplessly how the guests huddle in a side of the room and Amélie, Genji and Maximilien stand in the middle of the ballroom, bathed by the light of a chandelier and surrounded by a squad of armed omnics. “They outnumber us.”

“I can count, thanks,” McCree mutters more harshly than he intends, but Hanzo ignores the childish retort, wondering when and how did Maximilien sneak his men so close to the mansion and why has he decided to ruin the celebration. He shushes a grumpy McCree still muttering curses and sharpens his ears to listen to the raffle downstairs over the murmur and occasional whimpers of fear of the human guests. “What is he saying?” Hanzo shushes him again, granting a glare that could cut glass.

“The charade is over, ma chère,” Maximilien says aloud, contributing to the silence that now reigns in the ballroom. “I’m afraid we disinterred your husband, and I was terribly disappointed to _not_ find a corpse.” He remarks the words with sheer rage and Hanzo mumbles a curse in Japanese. They have even less time than what they thought.

“Brûle en l’enfer,” Amélie hisses. “I don’t know where he is, and even if I knew I wouldn’t tell you.”

“What is she talking about?” McCree whispers, a frown marring the sweetness of his face.

“Where is Mr. Lacroix?” Maximilien outstretches a mechanical arm and closes a tight grip around Amélie’s jaw. “Because, my love, we can’t marry if he’s alive…” It makes Hanzo’s blood simmer, first to see his dearest friend extorted by an omnic without honor and then his brother at her side, unable to do anything to protect her and also endangered by the mess they’re into. He needs to get to London and solve this mess before it’s too late. The information Amélie confided in him, what she asked him to do, it cannot wait any longer.

“Did he kill Gerard to marry his wife?” McCree grabs Hanzo by the elbow to have his attention, his thumb caressing the soft velvet of his tailcoat. “That can’t be it…”

“I need to meet with Gabriel Reyes,” Hanzo says, looking intently into his eyes and leaving no trace or doubt that he is dead serious about it. “I have to deliver a message in person.”

“No,” McCree barks. “You need to tell me what’s going on and then…”

“The only thing you need to know about this arrangement, gunslinger, is that I will speak only to Gabriel Reyes and that I like my blood at body temperature,” Hanzo snarls, arching an eyebrow at him and getting rid of the gentle grip on his arm.

“For God’s sake,” McCree curses. The noise of footsteps at their back make them swivel around only to find two armed omnics pointing their guns at them. He exchanges a quick glance with Hanzo, needing no words to understand his intentions and also knowing he has no saying in the matter, nor his revolver at hand, for all he cares. McCree will have to trust Hanzo’s expertise in battle.

“Gentlemen, for your safety you need to come with us and join the rest of the…” The omnic can’t finish the sentence because Hanzo lunges forward, elbowing the one on the right below the neck. The blow allows him to snatch his weapon from his hand with a quick yank. Hanzo ignores the burst of bullets punishing his left arm. They pierce and rip his tailcoat, for what Hanzo exhales an exasperated growl before he uses the gunstock to knock the other omnic. He tosses the gun on the marble floor with a loud noise and dusts his clothes.

“This costs more than you,” Hanzo grunts, inspecting the arm and getting rid of the flattened bullets that bruised and damaged his skin superficially but weren’t strong enough to penetrate his flesh, and even if they had, he would heal soon. McCree whistles playfully behind him, bringing a smirk to his lips that he hides turning his face away from him. “We need to go,” Hanzo mumbles. “They heard us.”

“And your brother?” McCree narrows his eyes, reaching his side in two strides. Their hurried steps echo along with his breath in the now silent mansion. They need to find a way out before they face more trouble because spending the night in the middle of a raffle between omnics and vampires won’t help him solve this case.

“The sooner we reach your boss the faster we can come back here,” Hanzo says, following the second-floor gallery to find the back stairs to the first floor. “A dead human is no big deal, but Maximilien cannot assassinate a vampire with a lineage as Amélie's or my brother's without consequences,” he says, going down the stairs followed by a persistent McCree. He’s slightly out of breath, Hanzo moves fast and it’s hard to follow, but he runs and levels his pace.

“For what I’ve seen,” McCree says, stopping to shoulder his way through a closed back door at the end of the kitchens. “He can do whatever the hell he wants.” The cold air of the night slaps his face and almost steals his hat.

“It would start a war with the Talon Council, and I assure you that is far from what Maximilien wants.” Hanzo beckons McCree to get out first, glancing back one last time to make sure no one is following.

“I reckon you know too much and share too lil,” McCree snarls while Hanzo joins him and takes his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket, typing hastily a message. “What are ya’ doing?” McCree is getting a bit tired of following blindly a damn vampire that won’t tell him what’s going on clearly.

“Sending a message to my brother,” Hanzo says. “To wait for us and keep Amélie safe meanwhile.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to…” McCree’s sentence gets interrupted by a burst of bullets shot from the open door behind them. Hanzo swivels about, tackling the omnic to the ground and deflecting the next burst. He straddles the guard, grips the metallic head with both hands and yanks it off of the mech in a single tug without flourish. Quick and effective. A groan of pain behind him startles him, and Hanzo watches McCree falling to the ground on his knees, holding his side with a hand while red, thick, blood drips down his knuckles and tightens his throat. Hanzo’s eyes turn a bright red at the sight, and he mumbles a curse, failing to suppress the intent purr reverberating inside his chest and goading him to succumb to his most raw need. Hanzo tosses the omnic head aside and prowls his way toward him.

“Stay away from me!” McCree grunts, trying to stand and failing miserably while Hanzo stares at him with what he knows is the sheer face of hunger and predatory intentions. He would latch from that wound until a red river coated his chin and throat from the inside out, but instead, Hanzo composes himself and endures his thirst, closing his eyes and opening them again to reveal two black voids shadowed by sadness.

“You are safe,” Hanzo says, offering a sturdy hand to help McCree on his feet. The gunslinger hesitates for a moment, but a quick glance at the dead omnic behind him tells him if Hanzo wanted him dead or drained he would be by now. He takes the cold hand and lets Hanzo wind his arm around his well-structured shoulders. The height difference offers an unexpected comfort as they resume their escape and trudge toward the forest.

“Ain’t that… hard to handle?” They hide in the safety of the woods surrounding the mansion, the darkness concealing their frames while Hanzo leads them to the safety of Annecy. His vampire eyes allow him to find the path, and when the moon shines through the treetops, McCree glimpses a half-smile that steals his breath and makes him forget about the pain in his side. Infatuation? No, more like besotted for some stupid reason that escapes his judgment.

“Kind of,” Hanzo says. “As I said, you smell delicious.” McCree chuckles and instantly regrets the movement near his ribs. Fortunately for both, the town isn’t far and the night conveniently dark even under a full moon. “Do you have a safe place or do I have to improvise?”

“I’ll guide you once we reach the town’s bridge,” McCree says. "If I don't pass out." He lets out a grunt of pain.

"I am sure a little bite will wake you," Hanzo jests.

For the rest of the walk, he gathers all the strength left in him and uses the silence between them to decide what he has found out tonight and what they have to do. Anything to make him forget about the excruciating pain on his side. As soon as he can, he will contact Reyes and inform him of his recent acquaintance with Hanzo Shimada and his implication with Gérard and Amélie. He groans, more from frustration than from pain, anticipating a monumental scolding from his boss. If the vampire doesn’t change his mind and sucks him dry when they reach his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ ) Feel free to share your thoughts because I never imagined myself writing a fantasy AU like this (though I'm very excited and I'm three chapters ahead already)
> 
> See y'all soon ヾ(＾∇＾)


	2. Dance of Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

By the time they reach the threshold of the safe house in a discreet area of Annecy, McCree is clinging to Hanzo and trudging his way to the bedroom. The pair looked like two drunkards coming back from a successful carousing around town though only a fool would mess with a vampire and his dinner because that is also a scenario that crossed McCree’s foggy mind as they approached his apartment. To be fair, Hanzo carried him all the way when his hand and shirt were soaked in blood and his legs felt numb and tired as though he’d been running a marathon. It’s not the first time he’s been shot and it surely won’t be the last, but it’s the first time a vampire assists him instead of ailing him. Hanzo helps him sit on the edge of the mattress, turning on the bedside lamp and helping him disrobe from his jacket, vest, and hat. He leaves them on a nearby chaise longue and removes carefully his ruined tailcoat. McCree watches him, still heady from his presence and the blood loss. “Do you have something to treat your wound?” He blinks twice before answering, gobsmacked.

“Bathroom,” McCree grunts. “There's a health pack.” He unbuttons his shirt with trembling hands while Hanzo disappears into the adjacent bathroom and comes back swiftly with the small pack in his hands and a wet towel. Hanzo leaves the items next to him.

“May I?” He lifts his hands near his neck and McCree nods, thrashing his head back so he can untie the cravat with deft hands. McCree breathes in at the lack of pressure and Hanzo growls slightly, fixing his eyes on the pulse point beating firmly and turning him into a wanton for blood while he wrings the cravat between his hands. McCree doesn’t miss the red lightning bolt crossing his gaze while he turns around and leaves the garment with the rest of his clothes. He has no other choice but to trust him. “It is a…”

“… clean shot,” McCree finishes. “I know.” He grunts softly when Hanzo helps him remove his shirt and disappears again into the bathroom. Never in his life, McCree thought a vampire would help him selflessly, well, not that selflessly. He has to lead him to Gabriel Reyes to help Amélie Lacroix, and his boss won’t like that one bit, but the possibility of Gérard being alive is huge and the best fuel to do as asked. Hanzo comes back with a glass of water and a canister of painkillers. “Quite a nurse I fetched,” McCree jokes, swallowing the pills and gulping down the water avidly. Hanzo kneels before him, towel in hand, and he almost chokes, enduring an excruciating pain at the coughing fit. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning your wound,” Hanzo says calmly, a smirk brightening up his face while he wipes the blood from his stomach. “The blood loss was minimal.” His hand works tenderly, removing the crimson smears and revealing a small indent on a side. A lucky shot, indeed, the bullet grazed his side. Hanzo lets out a throaty groan at a ruby trail ruining his work, his eyes flicking from black to red while he suppresses the urge to follow the succulent path with a taut tongue.

“You’re looking at me like a snack again,” McCree teases and Hanzo licks his lips, pressing the wound with the towel. “How can I trust you won’t kill me in my sleep?”

“What for?” Hanzo snorts. “I need you alive. Although I have a sweet tooth for handsome men like you, I would not recommend draining you of more blood so soon.” A smug smile matches his words, and far from annoyed, McCree is amused. He never bothered to get to know any vampires to reach this level of comfort in their presence, never worked with one either -it would be weird in his kind of job- and in the gang, vampires were bloodsuckers free to kill on sight. But there is something about this vampire that makes him doubt all the prejudices he collected over the years. Perhaps Gérard wasn’t such a fool after all.

“Handsome, huh?” McCree says, the corner of his mouth pulling upward.

“Such a waste…” Hanzo murmurs, letting out a hearty sigh while he covers the wound with the health pack gel. “I would have licked you clean, but I do not think you would have let me.” Hanzo stands, disappearing into the bathroom and missing an embarrassed McCree, blushing at the mental image of Hanzo on his knees between his legs lapping the bleeding wound and humming in pleasure. His neglected cock jerks in interest and hardens instantly at the beautiful fantasy, remembering the episode in the study and adding to the current arousal washing through him.

“Not tonight, buddy,” McCree mumbles. “Not ever…” He takes his breeches off and sneaks underneath the sheets before Hanzo comes back. The vampire tosses aside the garments of the chaise longue and reclines comfortably. “Ya’ gonna stay there?” Although the thought of a vampire in the same room while he gets some shut-eye should be disturbing, McCree’s stomach curls nice and warm at the unexpected company.

“I promise I will not kill you in your sleep,” Hanzo croons, rolling his eyes until he sees stars. “But I can move my presence to the living room.” He’s about to stand when McCree speaks.

“I’m just saying I snore,” McCree blurts out because, for some stupid reason, he feels safe around him, or maybe it’s the painkillers mushing his brain and destroying his self-preservation instincts. He rolls to a side and snuggle himself in the comfort of the bedding.

“I will survive,” Hanzo says, arching an eyebrow before distracting himself with his phone. A devilish grin bares pointy fangs at the frustrated groan coming out of McCree. Sleep catches with him hastily thanks to the painkillers and the numbness taking away any pain he should have felt, so McCree buries his face in the pillow and it is as though nobody is in the room, no other breath, no movement, but deep inside, he knows Hanzo is there and with that thought, he falls asleep.

Hanzo flicks his eyes from the screen of his phone and McCree more often than not, listening to his steady heartbeat and slowed down breathing as soon as he’s sleeping. It is soothing and strangely calming to see a man like McCree, a hunter with a reputation such as his, let his guard down around him so easily. Hanzo’s lips curl into a smug smile that disappears when he checks Genji hasn’t received nor answered his last messages. The last thing he knows is that they’re fine for now. The party resumed even though the majority of the guests left early, and Genji and Amélie are in the company of Maximilien while the omnic interrogates her, trying to find out where is Gérard. It’s useless, not even Hanzo knows where he is. His men are also looking for them, which has Hanzo vigilant in case something happens. McCree is in no condition to leave the city until he has had some rest and the wound is partially healed. The smell of delicious, sweet blood has receded, which means he isn’t bleeding anymore.

With a silent movement, Hanzo sits on the chaise longue and entwines his hands together, resting his chin over them, elbows digging on his knees. He’s thirsty, his throat is dry and uncomfortable, his fangs ache to bite and there’s an uncomfortable warmth beating in his heart. McCree smells delicious and he cannot take him out of his head. Even if an adorable maiden served as his dinner tonight and he filled his needs with her, it all comes to nothing when he senses McCree’s heart beating and pumping toothsome blood so close to him. A whim, a living temptation, and sadly his companion for the next few days. He will need to find solace in all his strength to not fall upon him, but if the amount of blood coming out of him earlier wasn’t enough to make him waver, they should be safe. Hanzo will have to feed though; before they leave Annecy and head to London.

He reclines once more on the chaise longue, taking in the simplicity of the beauty that sleeping offers. His chest heaves in unison with his breath, and a low rumble -far from a snore- brings a smile to lips. Hanzo remembers a time where he used to sleep, a time where he dreamed of spirit dragons and endless conquests as the heir of an empire, but those days are out of his reach now, like a fantasy that will never come true but you still daydream about. Sleepless nights and even more sleepless days are everything he knows since he became a vampire and achieved a whole eternity to dwell on them. He envies him, wondering if McCree is dreaming or just passed out by the weakened body and the painkillers. Watching him sleep is not how he expected to spend the night, and yet he cannot take his eyes off him. Hanzo blames it on the excruciating thirst chasing him because he’s had centuries perfecting the art of lying to himself.

 

McCree wakes up from a dreamless sleep and not a single pain in his body except for the uncomfortable sensation that he is forgetting something because his brain isn’t fully awake. He straightens, the sheets revealing his naked torso while he opens his eyes to the piercing light seeping through the windows and bathing the room. And there he is, Hanzo, reclining comfortably on the chaise longue, and hiding partially behind a newspaper. “Ah, you are awake,” Hanzo says, folding the issue on his lap and baring his teeth at him. McCree wished he would stop doing that, not because it annoys him but because he’s starting to like that predatory grin a tad too much. He has changed clothes and wears a pair of grey suit trousers and a black buttoned up shirt. His outfit is more relaxed than last night’s attire but equally fitting. The hair is still in a low ponytail that drapes beautifully over his shoulder and reminds him of the silkiness it holds. McCree blinks and blushes slightly at the blatant stare.

“’Morning,” he says, perching his legs from the edge of the mattress and stretching for what miraculously was a good night sleep.

“More like evening. You slept for almost fourteen hours,” Hanzo says.

“Did you… watch me sleep?” McCree asks.

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “I did not pay more attention to you than any other furniture around.” His smug smile bristles all the nerves in his body. “Now eat, I brought you croissants and coffee, though I am afraid it is lukewarm.”

“No, damn, we need to leave.” McCree stands, oblivious at his nakedness and the little coverage his boxers offer. He needs to get a shower, call Reyes, and they need to leave Annecy discreetly as fast as they can.

“Relax, the place is safe enough and you need to eat,” Hanzo says, his eyes riveting the length of his exposed body while he wets his tongue without subtleties. There is something about this human that awakens more than his thirst for blood if the lack of room on his trousers vouches for it. Hanzo clears his throat. “Maximilien wants you dead since you had the misfortune to make such an entrance last night and your presence did not go unnoticed.” A mischievous grin bares his teeth for a moment. “But he does not have enough men to search a whole town.”

“What about Gérard?”

“He will not find him either,” Hanzo says, piercing him with a gaze that suggests he is still not sharing more information than necessary. “Nor he will hurt Amélie or Genji if he wants to keep his head over his shoulders. The Talon Council has been contacted even though they are reluctant to act on this matter.”

“And when we find Reyes?” McCree asks, walking toward him unabashed of his lack of clothes and fetching a tender croissant from a brown paper bag.

“I hold only half the message and, though I have many talents…” His voice drops to a sultry whisper. “… I cannot foresee the future.” McCree swallows a mouthful of puff pastry and butter.

“Have I no other choice than to follow your lead?”

“We need to find Gerard before they do, they tried to kill him because he knew something important, at least important to Maximilien,” Hanzo explains, standing to level his gaze. “And the key to finding him, according to Amélie, is your boss.” McCree nods, thanking inwardly for the shared information. Hanzo’s eyes gleam in red for a moment flicking dangerously low on his body and up again to meet his gaze, McCree realizes he was, once again, drowning into his spell.

“So he’s alive.” McCree admires how Hanzo cocks his head playfully.

“Sort of.” Hanzo smirks. McCree’s heart leaps, suddenly aware of everything around them, of how easy is talking to him when he’s not a pain in the ass, of how the light reflects in his perfect complexion and plays tricks with the red ruby of his eyes. Breathtaking under the moonlight as much as the brightest sun. It confuses him how easily he gets mesmerized by him, it had never happened in his life, to be acting like a teenager in heat around a vampire whose intentions are far from honest.

“I’ll take a shower,” he says, walking toward the bathroom and breaking the spell for his own good, he’s awake enough to note the effect of Hanzo on himself.

“If we are leaving later tonight, I need to replenish myself,” Hanzo says and McCree stops at a halt. “I will not have a reliable source of blood during our trip, so I will go hunting before we go.”

“It’s unnerving your kind still uses that word: _hunting_ ,” McCree mumbles, though suddenly, what pisses him off is to imagine Hanzo hunching over someone else to take what he needs. “Most of you still assassinate humans for sheer pleasure.”

“You call yourself a vampire hunter,” Hanzo quips. “There are humans that kill for pleasure too, unlike me who have never found amusing taking lives. I need to eat, call it survival, if you may, but I have not harmed a human in several centuries.”

“That doesn’t make you a saint,” McCree mutters, stepping into the bathroom to end the conversation.

“I am aware of my nature, gunslinger,” Hanzo says. “Being a vampire does not make me a killer. Killing does.”

A thump on the bathroom door finishes the conversation for them, and McCree curses under his nose his indiscretion. He’s no saint either, God knows he has had his fair share of killing for this life and the next one and that he has a spot in hell with his name on it. He turns the water of the shower on before a ragged breath and a sudden heat on his face make him stare at himself in the mirror. His hair is getting too long, and his eyes, as usual, bear a heightened burden. Doubts of what he does and why shadow his mood as any life shredding no-lives would do to any sane individual.

Hanzo’s words replay in his mind until the mirror mists over and he steps into the cabin shower, not without a loud curse at the water temperature. McCree never thought about the raw need of eating, so accepted in their society that nobody gives a second thought at the daily act until the food is scarce and people die. There are many horrors through history portraying that scenario way before the vampires became noticeable. The warm water washes away the marks of dried blood from his hands and torso, and he inspects the healing wound in relief. It shines in a bright pink and will heal completely in a few days. Health packs and the technology behind them is something humanity owes to vampires and their genetics because, far from the horrors of his work, vampires and humans do live in a delicate balance. There is an exchange of power, money, and blood hard to ignore as society progresses and both factions move in unison. Nothing can separate what the omnic war joined so closely.

The spray washes the tension away while his hands massage soap on his body. Why is he taking such a philosophical shower this morning? Hanzo is a door away, and the thought curls the corners of his mouth upward. He will have to accept his new partner with less prejudice and more open-mindedly, what can go wrong? Flashes of last night invade treacherously his mind and McCree finds himself hard and willing. He closes his eyes and lowers his head, the stream relieving the tension on his upper back. Meanwhile, he braces himself on the cold tiles with a forearm and wraps a hesitant hand around his girth. Very hard indeed. His body hasn’t forgotten last night’s unresolved business.

McCree exhales long and hot while his body answers to his caresses with too much interest, and soon, his mind travels to Hanzo as fast as his hand pumps his cock in a well-known rhythm. The touch of the silky sea of his hair comes back in a rush, same as the slow tempo of their bodies grinding together, and that lush vampire ass between his hands. What wouldn’t he give to come back to that moment! He wouldn’t be so naïve, so wary, and he would have definitely pushed his nape gently and closed the inch that separated their mouths. McCree moans, his hips fucking a tight fist. Less than what he wants but all he has. Only one outcome in his mind. Would Hanzo bite him in the kiss? Would he feel the fangs scratching his tongue as he thrusts inside? Will he kiss him back? Two more frantic thrusts and a very timely squeeze sends him over the edge, spilling his lust down the drain with a curse on his lips that sounded strangely as his name. “What the hell am I doing?” The art of rubbing one off lusting for a vampire hits him unmercifully.

Far from ashamed and in a better mood, McCree gets out of the shower and grabs a fluffy towel to dry himself up. He brushes his teeth, rubs his dripping hair and curses once more when he realizes all his clothes and belongings are in his travel bag, in the bedroom. After a courageous intake of air, he comes out with the towel around his waist and red-skinned by the long, hot shower only to find Hanzo ready to leave. The vampire grants him a sidelong glance and the flash of a smirk. “I will leave you to your privacy and find myself a snack,” he says.

“Wait!” McCree blurts out. “Ya’ sure it’s safe?”

Hanzo frowns, the handle of the door in a tight grip, one foot outside and the other still in the bedroom. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows a thickness in his throat. “Not safer than bringing you breakfast.” Hanzo hesitates for a moment, a pregnant silence growing uncomfortable. “Are you offering yourself?”

“Maybe,” McCree mumbles in a barely inaudible whisper.

“No,” Hanzo coldly says, closing the door behind him and leaning back into a wall of the solitaire hall. If he had a human heart, it would be beating a mile an hour. His mouth is dry, his chest growls at his stupidity. He aches for a drop of blood. This isn’t happening, the hunter isn’t serious, he cannot be offering himself to him when Hanzo knows no other human could satisfy him now. His needs, maybe, his thirst? No, he isn’t thirsty for blood he is craving for _his_ blood and he’s had a long night to put one and one together. And if that isn’t enough, his cock hoards the place in his trousers at the mere thought of his lips wrapped around his skin and a warm thickness sliding down his throat. Hanzo mumbles a curse in Japanese, gripping the handle with jaw-barring force and stepping inside the bedroom once more. McCree is exactly in the same place, staring at him with a furrow knitting his eyebrows and a hand holding the towel around his hips. “I changed my mind,” Hanzo says, closing the distance between them in two quick strides until he is standing right before him, barely inches away.

“Let’s make a deal,” McCree says, wishing his voice doesn’t sound as flaky as he believes.

“I am listening,” Hanzo whispers in a raspy voice, wetting his dried-up lips and wondering why can’t he just jump and bite that tempting pulse point jutting at a side of his neck, and also, trying to compose himself.

“I’ll be your source ‘til we get to London,” McCree says. “It’s convenient, you won’t kill me and you won’t slow us down.” It made a lot more sense in his head than saying it out loud.

“Where do you want me to bite you?” Hanzo says, pressing a cold hand in the middle of his chest and pushing gently. McCree walks backward until his calves bump into the chaise longue and he sits, glimpsing for a moment the shadow outlining the vampire’s crotch. What’s underneath makes him swallow a lump in his throat. He rearranges the towel to cover the brave attempt of his cock at getting hard again.

 “I don't know, I…” McCree stutters while Hanzo takes a seat at his side. Their thighs brush, his proximity having the same heady effect as last night. This is a terrible idea and yet there is nothing he would do to stop. Not when those full-blown red eyes scrutinize his soul.

“You have not been bitten before,” Hanzo says while a smug half-smile bares a fang.

“No vampire has dared to get so close,” McCree brags, his heart thumping in anticipation at what to expect. “And I have killed those who tried.” He feels suddenly more confident, reading the eagerness in Hanzo’s eyes, in his relentless tongue wetting repeatedly his lips, on the body language aching to take what he offers and bursting in self-control. A part of him wanted Hanzo to rush headlong upon him at the first sign of consent on his part, but Hanzo exudes restraint. McCree can only guess his thirst and still wonders why the hesitation earlier. He has seen vampires lose their heads over a bleeding victim, suck the life out of them ruthlessly, but this is very different, nothing he can understand or predict. Then everything goes to hell.

“You are a virgin,” Hanzo teases.

“Don’t call me that, damn it,” McCree says between chuckles, releasing the tension that invaded him moments ago. “Where would ya’ wanna bite me?” A low growl prickles his whole body and what he feels is far from fear. Hanzo traces an invisible line over a pulsing artery on his neck, running his cold finger down his bare chest, curling his spine more intently than his recent orgasm.

“Your neck appeals to me,” Hanzo whispers, leaning forward and ghosting his lips along the stubble covering his jaw. “But I would not trust myself to stop in our first time…” he jokes.

“Classical bloodsucker,” McCree jests, turning about to meet Hanzo’s eyes and finding a desire for him he never thought possible. He lifts his arm and offers his wrist to him. Hanzo circles his forearm with a firm hand, his eyes pleading at the same time he demands clearly with his actions.

“Are you sure?” He asks one last time. McCree grins and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. He was expecting something animalistic, less controlled and more rushed, but then Hanzo brushes his velvety lips over the thin skin of his wrist and he loses his mind. His breath seizes in a single moment of pleasure at the same time his stomach curls nice and warm at the unraveling sensation. Hanzo nuzzles at the wrist joint, his thumb massaging the pit of his elbow while his other hand entwines gently with his. It breaks his resolve and any possible walls between them at how Hanzo courts him before he gets ready to take a bite.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he gasps, mesmerized by Hanzo and the two crimson irises piercing his soul. Those lips on his skin cannot be something to regret, and so McCree yields without a trace of fear or doubt. Hanzo opens his mouth and an intent purr comes out of his throat at the same time his tongue laps the skin. It’s less cold than he anticipated, soft and wet, the perfect teasing before a harsh bite. Hanzo bares his teeth, twists his wrist skillfully -he’s done this many times- and with a gauged pressure, he clenches around him and pierces his flesh. His faint whine of pain gets mixed with a strangled moan from Hanzo. McCree offers no resistance and watches Hanzo’s throat constrict every time he swallows. When McCree whines again at the strange sensation of being sucked of one’s blood, Hanzo slows down, his lips latching on his flesh while he glances up at him to make sure he’s okay. He is clearly not in a hurry and is taking his sweet time. “Keep going,” he mumbles, bedazzled by what should terrify him. His life is in hands of a vampire, in his will to stop, to measure himself.

Another intent moan dies before it gets out of his mouth. Hanzo sucks so intently he is sure he will leave a bruise to match the two dots on McCree’s wrist and the marks of the rest of his teeth. He hums his pleasure at every swallow, at every delicious gush of blood he suckles out of him right when a heartbeat sends the flow through his limbs. Hanzo stops to lap at the wound and give McCree a rest. “You are hot-blooded,” he mumbles, long strokes of his tongue savoring the iron taste of the blood. If he means the shower raised his body temperature or instead, he points a trait of his soul, McCree doesn’t know. Soon his eagerness takes the better of him and he latches on his wrist again with starving determination.

“Jesus christ,” McCree swears, pupils blown wide, his body trembling in a surge of adrenaline at how erotic and raw is Hanzo feeding on him. And the noises coming out of him, the low purr, the occasional growls, the sucking, wet, noises and the loud gulps that mean to praise a satisfying feast and go right to his cock. McCree is getting hard again and part of him wants to sneak a hand underneath the towel and jerk off while watching the fucking spectacle that is Hanzo Shimada sucking his blood. If his mouth can suckle so expertly he sure as hell wants those heavenly gifts elsewhere. But that would be very, very wrong, crossing boundaries he never thought he would, and even though he knows Hanzo is hard and sports a jutting erection that huddles at a side of his trousers, he fists the towel near his groin as soon as it raises a tent. Hanzo notices, and the bastard smirks while rippling his mouth around the indents of his fangs to steal his precious blood.

Then Hanzo closes his eyes, slows his movements and flicks his tongue over the two piercing wounds that surely adorn his wrist. When he opens his eyes again, they’re black as a moonless night and the most enrapturing vision McCree has ever witnessed. It lasts less than a couple of minutes, a flash he dreads has already ended. He is a little light-headed but more for the excitement than from the blood loss. He could get used to this as long as it comes from him, and his mind wanders around thoughts of how would it feel to have him clinging to his neck and feeding with the avidity of a lover. With a last kiss on the bruised skin, Hanzo speaks, dragging red tinted lips over his wrist. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he confesses. It makes McCree smile smugly. The vampire fantasized about it.

“Is it always like this for you?” McCree asks in a low raspy voice while watching the vampire follow with his tongue a ruby droplet that dares to elude him. Hanzo licks his way down his forearm and laps the wounds until nothing comes out of them. He wouldn’t dare to waste a drop. “You… you know, get…” McCree struggles with the words, distracted by Hanzo licking his lips and savoring the blood leftovers inside his mouth, and also how do you ask if he gets off from sucking blood as much as he’s steel-hard at the touch of his mouth.

“This is sometimes more intimate than fucking, you fool,” Hanzo teases, resting carefully his arm over his thigh but, to his surprise, snuggling closer to him until he nuzzles once more over the sensitive skin behind his ear. “Seems to be with you,” he whispers. A charmer, honeyed words to cast a spell on him, and McCree falls like a fool.

“How ‘bout both at the same time?” McCree asks while a wolfish grin stretches his lips. He turns about looking for his eyes, his sharp face and those surely tempting lips. Hanzo meets his eyes, cold fingers ghosting the fuzz on his chest. Will he taste of blood? McCree wonders while he tilts his head to a side to get a better angle. He just let a vampire he barely knows feed on him, a little kiss will do no harm. Will he taste of the many sins that suddenly lurk his mind? God knows he’s always been a sinner without redemption.

“I would not know,” Hanzo whispers, his lips feeling the puffing, living breath of the gunslinger whose blood warms his heart and is a balm to his soul. “I do not usually fuck my food, but for you…” a sultry smile bares a fang. “… I could make an exception.” McCree fails to suppress the moan that leaves his lungs. One last push and he could be tasting those lips for real. The sting on his wrist remembers him of what they just did; he’s playing with fire and will get burned as much as bitten. Like a dutiful lover, Hanzo closes his eyes and waits, their lips ghosting over each other’s, fearful of the sentiments they hold when it should be impossible, an infatuation, a mere whim, and yet McCree’s heart drums in a high tempo and Hanzo waits to be kissed like he hasn’t been in centuries. But the irritating ringing of a phone startles McCree and breaks the spell unmercifully. “Goddamnit,” McCree curses.

Hanzo chuckles at the sudden distance between them, studying his every move as McCree stands and dashes toward his luggage. Halfway there he loses the towel that hangs from a convenient hand near his groin but leaves wonderfully exposed an ass Hanzo would also take a bite any day now. McCree curses as he picks up the phone, glancing over his shoulder to see Hanzo arching an eyebrow at him while the smuggest smile creeps up his face. “Delicious,” he purrs, cocking his head with obvious interest. McCree clears his throat, uselessly trying to rearrange the mess around his hips with a phone in hand. He gives up and answers.

“Reyes?” A low chuckle behind him turns him a new shade of red. A call from his boss when he was about to lose his head for a vampire -if he hasn’t already- is exactly what he needs. “Yeah, I’m coming back to London and I’m escorting a -he hesitates for a moment- a witness who will only speak to you.” Reyes explains he isn’t in their headquarters and McCree lets out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, okay, but this is important. We’ll meet you there.”

McCree hangs up, tossing the phone inside his travel back and turning around to look at a still amused Hanzo. The vampire purses his lips when he rearranges the towel around his hips, clearly disappointed. “Reyes is not in London but he will meet us there.”

“Then get dressed,” Hanzo arches a questioning eyebrow. “We can be in Paris later tonight and London tomorrow.”

“Yeah, exactly my thoughts,” McCree says and clears his throat, picking his travel bag and setting it on the bed. “Are ya’ gonna watch?” Hanzo stands, taking the folded newspaper with him and sporting an unnerving grin as though he just won a battle.

“I will wait outside,” Hanzo says, turning the handle and opening the bedroom door before he swivels around and calls him. “Gunslinger.”

“Hm?” McCree grunts and looks at him.

“I am glad I was the one to pop your cherry,” Hanzo says with a devilish grin that bares his teeth and is directed to mock, and yet, McCree groans and feigns annoyance when he actually wants to laugh and bite back.

“Bless your heart, darlin’,” McCree mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading along! ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ Have a sneak peek at the next chapter:
> 
> “What’s your story?” McCree asks, finding solace in conversation.  
> “My story?” Hanzo narrows his eyes.  
> “Every vampire has one,” McCree says with a sweet smile. “A life, a death, many years at their back.” Hanzo chuckles, distracted with the wrinkles of the trousers on his knee. “How old are you?”  
> “Old.” The vampire glares at him, feigning an offense.


	3. Doomed by Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ε=ε=ε=ε=ε” “(/*’-‘*)/

The ride from Annecy to Paris through secondary roads is quieter than they anticipated. The autumnal atmosphere and the warm sunset fill the car along with the silence they share. Both appreciate it, McCree behind the wheel downsizing a smoke into ashes, and Hanzo at his side, taking in the auburn foliage of the landscape as they approach their destination. After centuries of more bad experiences than good ones, he never thought a human would surprise him. Hanzo takes a peek at the gunslinger, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a half-smile on his lips and eyes listlessly staring at the road. McCree looks pleased by their exchange this afternoon even though they both act as if they don’t want to stir the spark and set a fire. Hanzo aches for it, for more than a bite. He wants to rut and mark that man with everything he’s got, unrestrained, free, succumbing to all his basic needs while he can feed on him and fuck him senseless.

Hanzo lowers the window on his side, the smell of wood and nearby fireplaces reaches his nostrils and infuse a much-needed sense in him. He was once in love when he was young and the rush of a beating heart and butterflies in his stomach would point as such, but he renounced love when he became a vampire, when feelings stepped into a second place and the need for blood conquered his life. He cannot say he hasn’t loved since then, but he knows his heart falls in love as fast as out and his paramours don’t last. It is hard to match eternity, and when someone can outlive the present world, attachment seems futile. Another glimpse at McCree brings a warmth to his heart he thought long forgotten. His body simmers with life and Hanzo envies him, the passion in which he carries his life, the lack of logic and basic self-preservation instincts around him. He wished he was that naïve, but as soon as something starts he already glimpses the end. The sooner they scratch this itch, the better for both. McCree can continue with his life and Hanzo with his death wish.

“There are a couple of inns in the area,” McCree says, tossing the cig out of the window. “We ain’t being followed, so I guess Maximilien knows where we’re headed.”

“Most likely,” Hanzo replies, meeting his gaze for a moment before the gunslinger’s eyes go back to the road.

“What’s your story?” McCree asks, finding solace in conversation.

“My story?” Hanzo narrows his eyes.

“Every vampire has one,” McCree says with a sweet smile. “A life, a death, many years at their back.” Hanzo chuckles, distracted with the wrinkles of the trousers on his knee. “How old are you?”

“Old.” The vampire glares at him, feigning an offense.

“Come on, now, darlin’,” McCree croons, flicking his eyes from the road to the two voids squinting at him. “Feed my greed.” He glimpses a smirk and knows he has won the battle. Pampering Hanzo seems to put him in a good mood, so he saves that information for later.

“I am four hundred and thirty-eight years old.” McCree whistles playfully.

“And I felt old when I hit the thirties,” he teases. “Where are ya’ from?”

“I come from a village, high atop a hill. There are cherry blossoms in the spring. I miss it dearly.” Hanzo’s words leave his mouth tainted with sadness, and McCree notices.

“You smell of cherry blossoms to me,” he flirts, winking at him to bring back the smirk and get a peek at those vampire fangs that marked his body mere hours ago. His wrist wears a bruise and two healing piercing wounds as the perfect reminder. McCree hankers for the next time Hanzo has to feed, wondering if it will be better or if it was just his imagination playing tricks on him.

“You are quite the charmer, gunslinger,” Hanzo teases. “But if you want a story, you shall have one.” McCree focuses on the road once more with a tender smile stretching his lips, listening to the sultry voice of Hanzo invading his senses. “You asked me yesterday why would Maximilien want to marry Amélie.” McCree hums. “My guess is that the omnic wants to do what vampires have been doing for millennia.”

“What do ya’ mean?”

“Don’t you find interesting most vampires come from a royal lineage or wealthy families and amass fortunes?” Hanzo says in a know-it-all tone.

“You got all eternity to make money, I guess,” McCree quips. “Or to squander…”

“It is no coincidence. It has nothing to do with time but with status, power, and wealth,” Hanzo explains. “Vampires hunt the rich, the powerful, those with a name worth carrying, and pocket it for themselves in exchange of the elixir of eternal life.”

“Vampire blood,” McCree mumbles.

“A curse,” Hanzo points out. “Our father made a deal with a cluster of vampires called the Elders: his firstborn would live forever praising the Shimada name while the rest of his progeny would keep the family alive, and every few generations they would choose another innocent family member to join their living hell.”

“What was the catch?” The story already clenches his stomach, especially because he guesses who the heir was and the pain it must have brought to his heart.

“Besides my soul?” Hanzo jests. “Can you imagine outliving the ones closest to yourself generation after generation?” A hint of ire conquers his voice. “To see your younger brother in his deathbed, your father, your mother. An eternal death sentence far from what had been promised.” McCree turns about to find the sheer image of rage and two glaring crimson eyes, glittering in the last rays of the sun.

“M’sorry,” McCree whispers. He means it.

“The vampires took over our house and our riches, killed our mother and father and fed on the rest for as long as they could,” Hanzo finishes, running away from the memories coming back as vivid as if they had happened yesterday. Sometimes he wished vampires had the power to forget.

“But that ain’t all,” McCree says, and Genji comes to his mind clear and loud.

“That is a story for another day, gunslinger,” Hanzo says, relaxing his stance and glancing at him with those two black irises that make his heart trudge from one heartbeat to another. “Either way that is what happened to the Shimada lineage. My brother and I are and will be the only members left.”

McCree takes the next exit, following a path to a town he knows in the outskirts of the city. They need to find a place to spend the night, somewhere far from prying eyes, a discreet inn to go unseen. They could reach London today, but driving for four more hours in the middle of the night isn’t as alluring as a comfortable bed and a thirsty vampire. “Thank you for sharing that,” McCree says. Hanzo grants him a withheld smile.

“What about you?” he asks. “How does one become a vampire hunter of such renown?”

“Killing a whole lot of vampires, darlin’,” McCree drawls. “At least the ones who think they can kill humans and get away with it.” McCree clicks his tongue. “Not on my watch, but I ain’t no hero, I’m no better than any of ‘em.”

“I ought to differ,” Hanzo says. “Most hunters would not give a second thought killing one of my kind, you, on the other hand, follow a code, a law, even if it is your own.” McCree snorts before a loud guffaw fills the car. Hanzo chuckles too, relishing in the clear sound of his laugh and the heat surrounding his cheeks. He was also once a flustered young man full of life.

“I was in a gang when I was young and stupid,” McCree says, losing his smile. “I killed vampires and humans and anyone in my way or the way of my cargo.” Tough, lonely years that taught him to appreciate life.

“What happened?” Hanzo asks. Jesse McCree is known for being effective at hunting his prey. If he wants a vampire dead, there is no hope for them. McCree exhales a hearty chuckle.

“Gabriel Reyes found me, kicked my ass, and put my skills to a good use instead,” McCree says, spotting the signal to a hostel nearby. “I’ve been working for him since then.”

“Do you enjoy your job?” Hanzo bares a fang in a half-smile.

“I like to go to bed knowing an assassin won’t kill his next victim because of me.” Truth is he’s tired of killing but it has to be done.

“Ah!” Hanzo teases. “A broken hero seeking redemption.” McCree takes no offense in the mocking tint of his voice, he’s no hero, but he damn well is broken.

“Now that you’re feeling chatty.” McCree glances at him while he parks in front of the inn. “Why don’t ya’ tell me what you’re gonna tell my boss?” There are few cars or movement, the sun has set and the only thing they hear when he stops the engine is the noises of vehicles in a distant road. Hanzo gets out of the car, ignoring his question, and McCree groans from frustration, trashing his forehead into the wheel. He turns the car lights off, getting out and retrieving his travel bag from the trunk.

“I only know your boss is the key to find Gérard,” Hanzo says, leaning on the side of the car and watching a grumpy McCree sigh at his words.

“You’re damn annoying sometimes,” McCree retorts, closing the distance between them and bracketing Hanzo against the cold surface of the car. He drops his travel bag unceremoniously on the ground while both his hands find his way at both sides of Hanzo’s waist. Perhaps he’s gone crazy, but he has no intention to book two rooms tonight.

“Some find it charming, gunslinger,” Hanzo whispers in a honeyed voice, lifting his chin and not at all intimidated by the man towering over him.

“Fools.”

McCree mumbles a curse or a prayer -or both- before he rushes the few inches that separate their lips and traps his mouth between the gentle cage of his own. They are soft, like the finest silk and just as cold. He breathes hot into the sultry smirk, warming them up for him while staring into black eyes that show waves of red on them. The vampire’s breath seizes, not that he actually breathes, but they keep some human traits and this particular one goes right to swell his pride. Hanzo closes his eyes and waits, hoping for more than the brush of lips they shared. McCree obliges, gliding a wet, sinful tongue along his parted lips and dipping inside with endless care and a dose of curiosity. He finds two fangs that don’t oppose the intrusion, so he assails his mouth and thrusts his tongue madly, unable to show any restraint at the gift presented to him. Hanzo tastes of the most terrifying nightmare and the sweetest of dreams.

His heart thumps at an eager rhythm, his hands finding his way to a lean waist. He sneaks his arms between the marble of his body and the coldness of the car, bringing him closer, hunching over to lift him and deepen the kiss while Hanzo threads his fingers at the back of his head and musses his hair. A luscious moan resounds in Hanzo’s throat and it goes right to his cock. The mating of tongues continues, his own warms the vampire’s and soon it is like any other kiss but also like a kiss he’s never given before. McCree curses inwardly and groans, retreating from a lost battle with swollen and spit-slicked lips that brush against Hanzo’s mouth. He’s scared of spending a lifetime on those velvety lips and never having enough.

“I didn’t know you vampires could moan like that.” McCree drags his mouth over him as he speaks, craving his touch like a thirsty man would a pouring of water. Hanzo traps his lower lip and suckles for a moment, moaning once more and gritting gently his teeth around it.

“You know nothing,” he whispers, opening his scarlet eyes. “And now you made me hungry.”

McCree cups his face with warm callous hands and angles his head up again to take his mouth. There is such devotedness in how he kisses that Hanzo remains stock still like an obedient lover waiting for more. Which comes in the tenderest form, in countless pecks and nibbles, in a teasing tongue that dips in and out and glides seamlessly along his lips. No, not even when he was alive he’s been kissed like this and he dreads the thirst for the gunslinger’s kisses more than the thirst for blood. One he knows he can get anywhere, the other he will hanker for the rest of eternity. Not even burning in the depths of hell would Hanzo forget this kiss.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since I woke up,” McCree whispers in the mouth of his lover because, vampire or not, that’s what he is since he felt his lips on his skin, since he allowed him to take his blood and fuel his desire. “I figured why not here and now?” It has been many years without nursing this kind of smoldering, hot pleasure in his guts to let it slip through his fingers before he can catch it, taste it, live it.

“Carpe diem,” Hanzo whispers back, a devilish grin conquering his lips.

 

A huge bed crowds the room and awaits patiently for what they intend to use it tonight. They didn’t even have to pretend they were a couple at the reception, and Hanzo reveled in the intent red on McCree’s cheeks as he spoke. To hell with eternity and common sense, to hell with restraining not only in his life but in love. If this is the piece of heaven he deserves before an eternity as a soulless monster takes over, Hanzo will gladly cherish it and consume his passion for as long as McCree lets him. He toes off his shoes and reclines on the bed with a smug smile while McCree leaves his luggage on top of the dresser and dries up his clammy hands on his jeans.

“I’ll go freshen up, take a shower and… yeah,” McCree stutters, disappearing into the bathroom.

Hanzo chuckles softly, standing and plugging his phone into a charger near the dresser. He glimpses a gun in a leather holster inside the gunslinger’s travel bag and ghosts his fingers over it, but soon he regrets it and checks his messages. Still no news from Genji, but he knows his brother is safe and so is Amélie. The danger closes his claws in Gérard, that’s why it is so important that they find him, to find out what he knows and to solve this mystery with a happy ending for him and Amélie. The door of the bathroom opens abruptly, and a flustered McCree comes out with a half-opened shirt and unbuttoned jeans that defy gravity around his hips. “That was quick,” he teases.

“I’ll take a bath later,” McCree says, ambling to the other side of the bed and sitting on the edge.

“Is there a bathtub?” Hanzo can smell his impatience as well as he can see the bulge on his groin while McCree takes off his shoes and reclines back over a bundle of pillows.

“It ain’t the fanciest,” he jokes.

“I might join you later.” Hanzo climbs up the bed from the feet and crawls his way up right next to McCree. He sports a funny smile, and the vampire licks his lips while his eyes roam blatantly the length of his body. “I need to eat before I go on a frenzy,” Hanzo purrs, lying next to him; close enough that his arm brushes his chest and he can play with the buttons of his shirt.

“I don’t believe you for a second,” McCree teases, chuckling nervously at the prying hand slaying the few buttons at his reach. “But I’m happy to oblige.” McCree straightens and drags the shirt over his head without bothering with the buttons, tossing it on the floor with little care. He offers his wrist and Hanzo pouts adorably. “Then where, sweetheart?”

“Can I choose?” Hanzo is suddenly hovering over him, their legs entangled, his hands at both sides of his torso. McCree is tempted to hook a finger on the tie holding his hair, but he caresses the end of the ponytail and strokes its silkiness between his fingers.

“My neck?” McCree cocks his head, exposing a pulsing artery that turns Hanzo’s eyes a bright shade of red at the mere sight. A low growl reverberates in his throat, and the vampire hides in the crook of his neck and runs a flat tongue following the engorged pulse of life. McCree shivers, waiting for the sting of those fangs on his flesh, and for the luscious moan that he knows will follow. The proximity of Hanzo has him hard and ready even though what they’re doing shouldn’t be arousing, but it is, as a rush from a perfect drug. More intimate than sex that’s what Hanzo said. “Where, darlin’, where?” he pleads when instead of a bite he gets a gentle kiss on his neck.

“Your inner thigh.” Hanzo’s erotic whisper makes his cock twitch. The vampire leaves the temptation of his neck and locks eyes with him. The deep, bright red on them is deadlier than this afternoon. He is thirsty and tense with control, and McCree is a breath away from feeling like a defenseless prey.

“Why would I let your fangs so close to my naughty bits?” He teases, stealing a beautiful smirk from the vampire.

“Because, gunslinger…” Hanzo purrs, brushing his nose with his own. “… blood is not the only thing I can suck.” McCree fails to suppress the most embarrassing moan at those words, only masked by the noise of the zipper of his jeans as he pries them open. “Someone liked that idea.”

“You like to drive me mad,” McCree grunts, fisting Hanzo’s shirt and ripping it open. The buttons get lost over the bed, and an alabaster chest chiseled in heaven catches his eye. He slides the garment over his shoulders with trembling hands, wanting to see more, to feel more, and while the shirt slides down his arm, he eyes the impressive dragon tattoo imprinted in his skin. “You’re full of surprises,” he mumbles, riveting with his eyes every single detail, curve, and loop the dragon takes until he caresses a regal head on his wrist. The shirt follows the same destiny as his own.

“They say dragon blood runs in my family,” Hanzo says, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a mischievous smile. Hanzo kisses his way down his fuzzy chest, and McCree writhes underneath like a maiden pampered by her lover on a wedding night. Everything is new, exciting, the caresses and the sinful touch of his lips on his skin draw out the most enticing sensations out of him. For a moment, McCree doubts if this is a dream or it is really happening.

“Hanzo,” McCree whispers in a raspy voice. The first time his name leaves his lungs. The vampire hooks his fingers on the waist of his jeans and swoops them down to his knees without taking his eyes off him. It pleases him, he can tell. “Hanzo.”

“I like my name on your lips,” he whispers at the same time he nuzzles at his hip joint, a cold nose teasing and sending a frisson down his spine. McCree kicks carefully one leg off the jeans while Hanzo mouths shamelessly at his jutting erection. A wet, open mouth soaks his boxers and makes his cock twitch with anticipation, but Hanzo traces a suggestive path down his inner thigh, biting gently while McCree lets out a needy moan.

“Take them off,” McCree says, hooking a thumb to pull at his underwear while Hanzo helps him and, in no time, his leg is free of the garments while the other is trapped underneath Hanzo’s body. His cock lays firmly on his stomach, leaving a trail of clear droplets and the red comes up his cheeks unannounced. Hanzo growls from deep down his throat at the sight, tangling an arm around McCree’s thigh and scooting closer to take a mouthful of his balls. “Oh damn,” McCree moans, letting his knee fall to a side, his hips bucking up to get more. Hanzo sucks and strokes them playfully with his tongue, and occasionally, he feels the hard touch of his teeth. “Careful with those fangs,” he teases.

“You like them,” Hanzo quips, licking his sac and feeling their weight on his tongue before he laps his way up his cock. He closes his mouth around the shaft and clenches his teeth around it with gauged measure.

“Goddamnit,” he curses. McCree is rock hard like he’s never been in his life, and even though he knows Hanzo won’t bite him, the image of those fangs and velvety lips around his hard cock stirs something inside him. Hanzo releases him with a smirk, flicking his tongue all the way up, tasting the salty beads on his way to the beautiful, round tip.

“You are very well-endowed, gunslinger.” Every word brushes his cock, and a long stroke of his tongue steals another moan from him. Hanzo’s mouth waters at the thick cock at his reach. It curves wonderfully right, the engorged purplish head is begging for a good squeeze and he gets thicker at the root. He cannot wait to take that cock deep inside as he stretches around him. Hanzo always liked his lovers big and thick, and yet he never imagined something so perfect as McCree’s cock. It only took him half a millennium to find him.

“Suck me, darlin’,” McCree pleads with gentle eyes glazing in lust.

“I believe I will have an _amuse-gueule_ first.” Hanzo pushes his leg upward, gripping his thigh with a firm hand. He angles his head to a side and bites harshly at his inner thigh. A whole spasm shakes his leg and then his whole body.

“Yes!” McCree moans, watching Hanzo swallowing the spurts of blood he suckles from him. Not a single drop dares to escape the suction of his lips, and while the first seconds are crazy and rushed, now Hanzo relaxes and latches on his wound while an intent purr drums from his chest.

McCree wraps a hand around himself, delighted in the sight and the movements of Hanzo’s mouth around his flesh. He strokes himself twice before a cold hand slaps his own away and red intent eyes glare at him. Hanzo releases the grip of his mouth to speak while two droplets drip slowly down his inner thigh. “Do not come,” he purrs, licking his lips. “I want dessert too.”

A curse leaves his mouth when a flat tongue gathers the naughty drops and Hanzo suckles his blood again in the same intent rhythm while he wraps his cock in a tight fist and pumps his length at a leisurely pace. McCree knows this is by far the most erotic thing he has ever experienced, he doesn’t even blink, hypnotized by Hanzo, by the expert movement of his hand around his cock, squeezing his pleasure out of him while his mouth ripples around a mouthful of his flesh, taking the gift of his blood. It is too much, the cold hand is now at the same temperature as his body, damp by his own lust dripping down his knuckles. His balls draw up tight, his breath seizes, and he gets ready to spill while being sucked, but not exactly how he expected. “Hanzo, I’m close,” he babbles.

The vampire answers his plea and grips tightly his hilt, eliciting a loud groan as he holds back his climax. Less than a minute, he should be ashamed. Hanzo laps his wounds until no blood comes out of him and then kisses gently his skin as the most grateful lover. Those black eyes tell the tale of his soul when they are like this, glazing and sated by his own life. Hanzo smirks at a flustered McCree, relishing in the red of his cheeks, on the hand wrinkling the sheets and a parted mouth panting for air. “Your blood tastes so sweet it takes the better of me to stop,” Hanzo whispers, kissing his way up to his cock.

McCree frees his hair, getting rid of the tie and granting him a wolfish grin. The breathtaking beauty of Hanzo invades his senses. “Gorgeous, darlin’,” he whispers, ghosting his fingers on the silky strands of hair that get in the way. Hanzo ignores them, angling the thick cock to his mouth and pressing the tip with pursed lips. “Ya’ think it’ll fit?”

Hanzo lets out a hearty chuckle before he opens his lips. “Will you last enough to find out?” He pushes the tip of his length inside him, humming a pleasant moan at how much he missed the warmth of a cock in his mouth. It’s not that Hanzo doesn’t take lovers often, but never the ones he feeds on, almost never humans, but how not to rejoice on this sweet treat for as long as it’s hard and willing? Hanzo swallows another inch, kneeling on the bed between his legs to angle his throat, both his hands kneading the flexing muscles at his stomach while he sucks intently. His tongue brushes the underside as he bobs his head, and he takes more, and more every single time until the stretch on his lips at the very hilt of him is nigh overwhelming.

“Oh, dear lord,” McCree mutters, bucking his hips upward to fuck that sinful mouth at the rhythm he needs. “Please.” A moan, an entreaty, one that clenches his stomach in sheer rapture. Hanzo relaxes, allows him to take his pleasure and ride his climax however he pleases. McCree tangles his hand in his hair, fisting a handful of silky heavenly locks and tugging roughly. His other hand goes to his nape to keep him in place, and Hanzo glares at him with a hint of amusement. If McCree fucks his mouth with such eagerness what won’t he do to him later. A thin veil of perspiration covers his skin, and McCree struggles in frantic thrusts that seek his end. And yet a thumb strokes the line of his jaw tenderly. Hanzo knows exactly what the gunslinger wants, what he craves, something he cannot get from him but that he will gladly fake. Hanzo constricts his throat, swallows thickly and gags, and McCree loses it.

His hips thrust up, pushing inside that tight throat and out, but never leaving him empty, he keeps him in place, tightens the grip around his head, and the next time Hanzo swallows around him and squeezes his cock, McCree spills hot and long down his throat, unashamed, moaning his name in a desperate blue streak for more. Hanzo sucks around him, swallows every single spurt and gush of come that he milks out of him and moans at the delightful treat from deep down his soul. The taste of blood and come in his mouth is a mixture he wants more often than not as soon as it comes from McCree. Hanzo thought he would never see heaven, but he was very wrong, heaven is getting soft and tender into his mouth. Heaven is the man attached to that cock and trying to take a sharp intake of air while he devotedly stares at him. Hanzo takes him out slowly, still sucking and tasting every single drop of his load.

“Best snack I will ever have,” Hanzo teases, hovering over him and dragging his lips and tongue to taste his sweaty skin and sense a beating heart enraged by his orgasm.

“I told you, I ain’t your snack,” McCree grunts, pulling him upward and taking his mouth, tasting himself on him while his hand palms Hanzo over his trousers. He feels a hardness there ready to break the seams of the garments.

“A full course meal? A feast?” Hanzo teases, swaying his hips against his palm to get some friction, but soon McCree gets tired and rushes to unfasten his trousers. “You sure are big enough to feed my needs…”

“Take everything off and fuck me,” McCree whispers demandingly, with an eagerness that shouldn’t be there when he is so sated because of his recent orgasm, but the thought of the vampire sliding inside him with deadly hunger makes his blood simmer. He kicks off the jeans and boxers from his other leg and takes on disrobing Hanzo of the trousers, but he gets distracted fondling the luscious curve of his ass on his way down.

“I will, gunslinger,” Hanzo purrs. His cock brushes McCree’s stomach, and he squirms out of his trousers while those hands grope for his ass. “I will fuck the life out of you, but what I want now is your cock splitting me open and filling me with your girth.”

“Holy shit,” McCree curses, hiding his scarlet face in the crook of his neck. He thought Hanzo would be cold and that his lifeless skin wouldn’t be arousing, but he warms him up with his body heat and he feels like a cosy blanket in the middle of a snowfall. “I’m here to please, sweetheart,” he whispers into his ear.

“Will you get hard to satisfy me?” Hanzo purrs, grasping his hand from behind and leading it to the front. He puts two of his fingers inside his mouth and soaks them into his saliva with a twirling tongue.

“Until you want nothing more than my cock,” McCree brags, moaning when Hanzo flicks his tongue around his fingers before he withdraws them and returns the hand to where it belonged: between his butt cheeks.

“Bold,” Hanzo teases. “You better fulfill that promise.” He braces himself on McCree’s chest, spreading his legs further when those slicked fingers tease back and forth his rim. McCree pushes one inside and Hanzo moans lovingly at the gentle stimulation. His fingers are warm and tender, and he prods shamelessly to make way.

“You’re so soft, darlin’,” McCree whispers while dragging his lips over his mouth.

“You can be rough,” Hanzo says with a smirk and an arched eyebrow, getting another finger in as a reward. “Yes, give me more,” he moans, yielding to expert fingers and the lingering burn of the stretch. He listens to McCree’s beating heart, notes the flow of blood underneath his skin and the overwhelming warmth of his body.

“I got a bottle of lube,” McCree says, thrusting two fingers into his tight hole. “Let me go fetch it on my bag.”

“You carry lube with you on missions?” Hanzo teases, playing with a perked nipple while he rests his head over his other hand.

“For lonely nights that turn out not to be so lonely after all.” Hanzo pouts and squints in a pang of jealousy all of a sudden, and McCree finds the gesture adorable for a vampire of four hundred years old. He can already tell he is a covetous lover who takes and gives without measure. “It’ll be just a moment.” McCree withdraws his fingers and rolls Hanzo over, standing and rummaging in his travel bag, mumbling a curse when crimson eyes roam his back. He finds the lube and turns around. “My god,” he mumbles, mouth agape, gripping the travel-size bottle with white-knuckle force.

Hanzo lies on his back, an out of control, black mane spread on the pillows, pointy fangs adorning a beautiful partly opened mouth that McCree knows delivers the most enticing pleasures on earth, and then the rest. Beautiful, alabaster skin, a body honed into perfection and reflecting what Hanzo was the day he was turned. Ageless beauty, a roaring dragon, sprawled and exposed for his pleasure alone. Hanzo’s lips stretch in a sultry smile while he lowers a hand down his toned stomach and to his also perfect and luscious cock. “If you are going to stare, hand me the lube,” Hanzo purrs. He wraps a hand around his length, playing with his skin and awakening it into a full-erection with barely a touch. McCree’s cock twitches and fights to stand hard again at the sight, and when he stumbles his way to the bed, Hanzo lets out a hearty chuckle that warms his heart.

“I’ll do more than staring, darlin’,” he whispers in a raspy, hungry voice, nestling between his spread thighs and hovering over his vampire lover. Hanzo hums his pleasure at the noise of the stopper flicking open. “You’re a pretty thing when you don’t bite.” McCree buries his nose in his disheveled locks and inhales deeply. Nothing but cherry blossoms. His heart speeds up as he warms up the lube between his fingers, wondering if it will be the same to fuck a vampire than to fuck a human; if Hanzo will like it or he’ll be bored with another average lover after so many centuries.

“You have never been with a vampire either,” Hanzo pours right into his ear.

“No.” McCree swallows thickly. “The idea never crossed my mind ‘til I saw you.”

“I am honored.” McCree chuckles softly, landing a tender kiss on his neck and up the goatee framing his jaw until he finds his lips.

“If ya’ make another joke ‘bout my virginity, I swear…” McCree threatens, sneaking his hand between them and finding Hanzo’s ass ready to receive his fingers.

“My handsome, undefiled…” Hanzo moans when McCree thrusts two fingers inside him. “…  and pure as driven snow, gunslinger.” He curls his fingers upward, sinking them deep inside Hanzo and stealing a whole-body shudder. McCree cradles his head with an arm, delighted by the touch of his hair over his skin while his fingers caress a handful of silky hair. He buries his face in the crook of his neck before he clenches his teeth around his warmed-up skin. The vampire lets out a fierce growl, between rebellious and compliant, and it goes right to his half-hard cock.

“I warned ya’,” McCree whispers with a wolfish grin tainting his words. Hanzo groans at the gentle kisses on his neck, bending his leg and hooking it over McCree’s shoulder while his fingers stretch him at a divine tempo.

“Hurry,” he snarls, earning another harsh bite that curls his spine in a shudder. His flesh is tender, like human skin, but it doesn’t capitulate under the pressure of his teeth no matter how harshly he bites. And McCree tries, ignoring Hanzo’s whimpers at the pain, encouraged by the sinuous movements of his body underneath his weight. McCree grits his teeth, sucks his skin and grunts his frustration at barely a few indents that disappear after a few moments. “I wish you could mark my skin in the shape of your teeth and love bites,” Hanzo whispers with endless sadness.

“I’ll mark your soul, darlin’,” McCree drawls before Hanzo turns his head and traps his mouth in a heartrending kiss. He assails his mouth with eagerness, suppressing a strangled moan when McCree adds another finger to the bundle and shoves them deep inside, so deep his palm cradles his balls and slaps them at every thrust. Hanzo fights his tongue, grunts and suckles at his lower lip to keep at bay his impatience because he wished the lingering burn and the spreading fingers were his thick cock instead. “You’re almost ready,” he whispers hotly in his mouth.

“I was ready a century ago,” Hanzo hisses, a mischievous smirk stretching his lips. McCree withdraws his fingers unmercifully, leaving him awfully empty and annoyed. “You better fill that emptiness soon, gunslinger.”

“You know, to have all eternity you’re pretty eager for my cock,” he says, kneeling on the bed and straddling Hanzo’s leg while he hugs the other close to his chest.

“Is it hard already?” Hanzo bares a pointy fang while glancing down at McCree’s cock resting at a side of his hip.

“Does this look hard enough for you, darlin’?” McCree teases, taking himself in a tight fist and pumping his hard cock at a leisurely pace. Of course, he is hard, and dying to fuck into that willing ass he’s been preparing with so much love and lube, but he’s a sucker for teasing a teaser. Hanzo’s cock oozes a trail of clear pre-cum near his navel, and McCree’s mouth waters, almost yielding to his demands and shoving himself inside him.

“Perhaps if you put it inside me, gunslinger, I could tell.” The vampire arches a questioning eyebrow, but the playful smile on his lips suggests he can push a little further.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya’?” McCree says, positioning the tip of his cock right into his stretched hole and prodding naughtily. Hanzo lets out an exasperated grunt, digging his fingers into McCree’s thighs and glaring at him. McCree pushes the engorged head of his cock and breaches in, eliciting a toe-curling moan from Hanzo. That was way funnier than teasing.

“Yes, finally!” He moans, leaning on his elbows to look intently at the thick cock stretching him. “More.” He flicks his eyes into McCree, who is beautifully flushed and pink-cheeked. His skin glistens in a veil of sweat, his hand trembles around his thigh, and his hair gets in the way of his whiskey-colored eyes.

“God, you’re tight,” McCree moans, shoving himself inside Hanzo in a long, leisure thrust that feels tighter as he goes deeper. Hanzo falls back on the bed, using the leg over his shoulder to angle himself until that heavenly cock is buried balls-deep inside him. McCree stays there, stock still, his chest heaving in unison with his sped-up heart. His cock fits downright smart in Hanzo’s ass, and he lands a grateful kiss on the knee at his reach, getting ahold of that leg with one arm while his other hand roams the perfect ridges of his stomach. “And you’re goddamn gorgeous.” Hanzo chuckles at the praise, granting him a tender gaze.

“Move,” he purrs. “Your cock is so hard.” The last syllable turns into a moan when McCree pulls out until the only thing inside him is the head of his cock and then lunges forward in a measured thrust. As a wolfish grin grows wide on his lips, he picks up a relentless pace that satisfies both beyond reproach, knees well anchored on the bed while he sways his hips and fucks hard and long into Hanzo’s perfect ass. “Just like that,” he moans, and it goes right to his cock, his ego, and vanishes all the doubts about his inexperience.

McCree thrusts deeper, exhaling a desperate grunt every time he bottoms out, brushing Hanzo’s prostate every other slam and aiming there to make him writhe underneath. A vampire, Hanzo, a sore mess by his cock. He gets lost in his fucking, admiring his untarnished body and his velvety lips, parted and smiling, allowing him a glimpse of two piercing fangs he wishes marred his body again. Hooded lids hide deep red eyes awakened by their shared pleasure. Hanzo squeezes his thigh rhythmically with a greedy hand while the other wrinkles the sheets in a futile attempt to steady himself from McCree’s onslaughts. He fails, surrendering to the gunslinger’s fucking and moaning his pleasure loudly. “I’m close,” McCree warns, terribly ashamed of how on edge he is with Hanzo when he has always taken pride in his stamina in the bedroom.

“Come here, gunslinger,” Hanzo commands, and driven by a spell, McCree leans forward over his forearm, bending Hanzo’s leg and deepening their union while he cups his face with a callous hand. Hanzo nuzzles into his touch, closing his eyes, and McCree swoons at the tenderness he never expected but fills his soul. When he opens his eyes again, they’re bright red and look at him with an intensity that washes away his fear and the world and leaves him soul bared in front of him.

“Is this heaven?” He whispers, his hips slamming against him and filling the room with noises only a hard fucking and lovemaking would. His breath is the only one puffing on his lover, but it doesn’t make it any less intense when Hanzo clenches around him, moaning his pleasure so close to him.

“Hell,” Hanzo grunts, linking his arm around McCree’s and keeping his hand close to his face. “Heaven is not half as fun as this.” He likes his touch a tad too much, wants him close, more, deeper, faster, a bit more of everything until he is overflowed by his presence. _Heaven_.

McCree misses nothing of that sweet smile and needy noises, sinking himself in the depths of his body as fast as his human body allows, his stretched hole hugging him wonderfully, his vampire body reacting to his touch, his cock and his fucking like he hadn’t imagined. He witnesses his climax in awe, holding back his own so he can engrave this moment in his memory to go back to it whenever he pleases. Hanzo moans loudly, his body tense and still, waiting, thrust after thrust, for the orgasm to reach him. It does. Beautifully. Hanzo comes untouched, but deeply touched by his hard cock pounding inside him repeatedly. A spine-melting orgasm flashes through him, swathed by a hot body on top of him. McCree delights in every little grimace his face makes, every single moan, in a chest that swells with air he doesn’t need, in how a wide opened mouth exhales and purses tender lips which kiss and praise the pulse point at his wrist. McCree senses his ass fluttering around him, and he fucks him through it, unable to stop, not even the tightness around him would prevent him from making love to him like this. He’s breathtaking.

A wet tongue caresses the healing wounds on his wrist, and McCree falls on his welcoming chest, his hips rocking frantically, never leaving his heat, just pushing for more, for deeper, until he spills himself thoroughly with an intent groan and a mean thrust, feeling his hot come around his own cock, and Hanzo’s dripping between them in a wet mess. He doesn’t care. Heaven or hell, this is where he belongs. He puffs a heavy breath on his skin, freeing his leg and falling on top of him with all the length of his body. “You are a tender lover, gunslinger,” Hanzo whispers, tangling his legs around him, and moaning at the overwhelming sensation of his cock inside him while he pets his hair lovingly. McCree sighs, recovering from the afterglow and still buried deep inside him. He cups his face, caressing his forehead with his thumb. McCree could fall asleep like this, cradled by his embrace when he never imagined he would feel safe and cared for in the arms of a vampire.

“You’re not so bad yourself, darlin’,” he mumbles.

“Rest,” Hanzo whispers with a half-smile on his face. He never gets tired, never needs to rest or sleep or eat. The only things he craves are blood and sex, but what they just shared is so much more than that, and it shrinks his heart in fear at what he cannot have. His non-beating heart is proof enough.

“Just a moment to catch my breath,” McCree says, stretching and kissing his chest. Hanzo relishes in how he relaxes, how his breathing drops, his heartbeat stabilizes and his body slowly recovers from their lovemaking. “I don’t wanna fall asleep,” he mumbles. Hanzo clenches his teeth around his wrist in a playful bite, making him flinch and straighten, narrowing his eyes. “So mean.” Hanzo traps his mouth into a soft kiss that has nothing to do with the previous bite, gliding his tongue along his swollen lips as he smiles.

“You knew what you were getting into,” he purrs. _Not at all_ , McCree sighs, but it’s done and he would do it again a thousand times in a thousand worlds. Maybe that’s it, he scratched an itch and when the case is solved, they’ll part different ways. A shadow crosses his mind at the mere thought of never seeing him again, and McCree stares into the dark wells of his eyes for a moment, as though he could read his mind and find out what means what they just shared, if it’s a vampire thing to be utterly bedazzled by him and it’ll pass or if his heart is right and beats at Hanzo’s will.

“What if I fill the tub and we take a bath?” McCree whispers, reveling in the curious smile of Hanzo.

“Just a little longer,” Hanzo murmurs in a sultry voice. “You are still in me… hard.”

“And I ain’t leaving any time soon, darlin’.”

A curse, doomed, besotted, whatever stupid description he finds for what he feels his heart screams loud and clear the answer his mind refuses to accept: love. Cursed and doomed by the laws of life that keeps him a mortal while Hanzo floats in another plane of reality. They will regret this, the pain it’ll cause it’s not at all comparable to the amount of pleasure received, is it not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> There's more smut incoming... (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄


	4. Hungry prince of night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The night is young and the vampire hungers for more than blood (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It’s not the biggest tub of all, a little crowded with both of them inside, but McCree plays with Hanzo’s hair and the loops it traces in the water while the vampire rests on the expanse of his chest and relaxes. The recess from the exertions of the night so far is more than welcomed. McCree doesn’t know what time is it, he only knows he doesn’t want the sun to rise and spoil their fun. The water warms his body until his skin is red and flushed, but Hanzo’s is still as ghostly as ever, but slowly warmed by the heat of the water; as though he was alive.

McCree’s hands caress his chest underneath the water, following the ridges of his muscles and worshiping every inch of skin at his reach. Hanzo is like a perfect marble statue of a young god, and simply otherworldly. He’s been inspecting his tattoo for so long he swears he has seen the dragon move, and the silence, far from uncomfortable, flows like a balm to the soul. “I like feeling warm even though it is an illusion,” Hanzo whispers.

“I noticed,” McCree says while a half-smile stretches his lips. He gathers enough courage to hug Hanzo, pressing his chest onto his back and wrapping his arms around him. He rests his chin on his shoulder and watches their tangled legs submerged in hazy water. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Hanzo snorts at the statement.

“Life is too short to contemplate those things.”

“Not for you,” McCree quips.

“I meant yours, I have no life ahead,” Hanzo says. “Only an endless road of loneliness.” He notes McCree’s heart thumping against him and a hearty sight. “But I am not alone tonight.”

“You got your bub too.” McCree reclines back on the coldness of the tub and brings Hanzo with him, craving his touch like a madman because as much as he is enjoying their liaison, this will end as soon as they reach London.

“That I do.” The hint of bittersweet sadness tinging his words shrinks his heart. “But it is a different kind of companionship, gunslinger.” McCree chuckles, and Hanzo clasps their hands together, treasuring the warmth coming out of it and feeling the callous palm of a killer. How many lives have his hands shred and yet they caress his body as though he deserved it.

“Tell me the end of your story,” McCree says, relishing in the never-ending soothing touch of Hanzo’s skin under his fingertips. “I wanna know you.” He believes he has overstepped when a pregnant silence between them is about to grow uncomfortable, but Hanzo speaks.

“I watched powerlessly how the Elders turned my home into a bloodbath.” Hanzo plays with his hand as he collects the words to explain a harsh past. “Ignorant of the strength I held, I could not protect my mother nor my father, and I feared for my brother’s life.” A pair of comforting lips kiss his temple, and a sad smile conquers his face. “But I am a fast learner, and they underestimated me.” McCree’s silence goads Hanzo to continue. “I was selfish and longed for revenge, so I learned how to turn a human into a vampire.”

“Did you have to…” McCree’s breath seizes, unable to find words.

“I killed my brother,” Hanzo gasps. “He offered himself, as freely as you did today, and I should have refused but I did not. I sucked his blood and stole his life like the monster I am until his heart barely beat with the pulse of life and his lifeless body slacked limp into my arms, and then -Hanzo pauses, his body tense, far from the relaxation he showed moments ago- I made him drink my blood and doomed him to a life walking the Earth without purpose.”

“He deserved his revenge too.” McCree never thought a vampire could carry a burden such as his; that he never wished this life, that it ended his family, his lineage, everything.

“I still remember the taste of his blood against my tongue,” Hanzo says. “My own. I feared an eternity without him, alone and drowning in guilt, but he woke up moments later with the breath of death.”

“Tell me you made them pay for it,” McCree says, his voice dropping to a low grunt.

“We killed them all,” Hanzo drawls. “Cut their heads off and burn them in a pyre. Not a single one escaped their fate. They were old, but the Shimadas are warriors without peer.” McCree breathes in, slightly regretting meddling in such ancient tales, but grateful for the gift, the story, and the trust. “My brother and I restored life in the Hanamura castle, and nothing has disturbed its peace since then.”

“Hanamura… and its cherry blossoms.”

“You are welcomed there, gunslinger,” Hanzo says, a withheld smile erasing the sting of the memories. “It is my home.”

“I can’t remember the last time I called a place home,” McCree says. “I guess I never had one.” Hanzo hesitates if he should ask or leave it be, wanting to know the man that holds him with such tenderness after he poured his heart along with them in the tub. “When my parents died, I ran from one place to another, the gang, then Overwatch. I go where my mission takes me and I never linger.”

“You have not found it yet,” Hanzo says, turning about to nuzzle at the stubble near his neck, the steady beating of his heart singing a tempting song. “You will.” He peppers kisses along his neck, turning into his arms enough to map a side of his chest with a greedy hand that travels up to his throat.

McCree trashes his head back, relishing in his touch, in the fingers following his Adam’s apple as he swallows, then his pulse that races every time he senses his mouth close to him. Exposed and offered to the most dangerous predator and McCree never felt safer. Hanzo kisses him with endless care, flicks his tongue over his tender flesh and growls from deep down his throat at the thirst invading him. He barely fed earlier, and he aches for more, for a thick flow of blood down his throat. “You want a bite,” McCree whispers in a raspy voice and Hanzo’s answer is a grunt.

“I want more than I can take,” Hanzo whispers, dragging his lips over his skin. McCree roams a hand from his shoulder blades to the back of his nape, threading his fingers in damp hair while he exhales and waits.

“Darlin’…” McCree finds his mouth and thrusts his tongue inside, mingling their tongues, their taste, and their souls in a single kiss. “Let me feel your teeth.”

“After what I have told you?” Hanzo meets his gaze without hiding those ruby eyes aching for blood. A sweet smile stretches the gunslinger lips while their bodies glide together in the bathtub. He holds Hanzo closer, with big arms that won’t let him escape his embrace. They fit like missing pieces, and McCree tilts his head to a side and closes his eyes. “You are a fool.”

“Hanzo,” McCree whimpers when pointy fangs dig on the tender flesh of his neck, finding quickly the source of the nectar of life that blurts out of him and into Hanzo’s thirsty throat. The vampire lets out a guttural moan as he dutifully sucks and swallows his prize. And what a prize! Hot, full-of-life blood awakens his senses and drives him insane. He tastes like everything Hanzo misses, feeds not only on his blood but his devotedness, his willingness, the rush of sexual awareness that conquers his body every single time. Hanzo stops, lapping his neck with an eager tongue, his heart still beats strong. He could take a bit more.

“This is not feeding,” Hanzo gasps. “This is greediness.” He latches on him again, relishing in the faint whimper and how those arms squeeze him tight. The gunslinger is like putty in his hands.

“Feed your greed on me, darlin’,” McCree grunts, his hand tangled in the dark sea of his hair, his cock standing firmly between his legs at the intent sucking of his mouth. After just a few moments he is light-headed, drunk from him, from what they share. Hanzo’s hand wraps around his hard cock under the water, pumping his length and taking everything a notch up. He isn’t sucking anymore, he presses the marks of his teeth a taut tongue, licks and treats his skin with the sultriest moans and the softest kisses.

“You get hard while I bite you,” Hanzo whispers, licking clean his neck and not wasting a single drop, but not daring to take more even if he aches for it. He wants him conscious, awake, here with him, and _hard_. McCree exhales a luscious moan at the movement of his hand.

“It surprises me more than you, sweetheart,” he teases.

“It is intimate,” Hanzo whispers. “Biting you turns me into a wanton…” he purrs. A moan and the subtle splashing of water fill the atmosphere. Hanzo stops unmercifully, bracing himself at both sides of the tub and standing in all his glamorous nakedness in front of McCree. The gunslinger swallows a lump in his throat at the beauty unraveled in front of him, his impressive frame bared for him, from the well-sculpted muscles to the round cock tempting him. Hanzo steps out of the bathtub, dripping water and not caring at all. He turns around and glances at him over his shoulder only to see McCree, mouth agape and gobsmacked.

“Come to bed.”

McCree stands and fumbles for a towel while watching him, drying himself briefly. His reflection catches his eye and McCree finds himself flushed and smiling. It has been a long time since he smiled like that just by the sight of a lover. The two dots marring his neck remind him what Hanzo is, but he dismisses the thought and ambles inside the bedroom. He traps Hanzo between his arms, enveloping him in the towel and drying his skin for him. “Thank you,” he murmurs. McCree finishes as fast as he can and drops the towel unceremoniously at their feet. He aches for his touch, to explore his body with curious hands, and lips, and everything he has. “Perhaps you should get some shut-eye,” Hanzo says mischievously, pushing back into him.

“Later,” McCree mumbles while he drags his lips over the soft skin of his shoulders, moving away the strands of hair sticking to his back. His hands sneak at the front to cup his chest, grazing two perked nipples longing for his touch. He strokes them with his thumbs, puffing his hot breath in the crook of his neck. Hanzo purrs at the sensation, arching his spine and leaning back into him pleading for more. “Soft spot?” McCree teases, pinching the two hard tips ruthlessly until Hanzo hisses a whine.

“Maybe,” Hanzo whispers, enjoying the warm, caring hands kneading his body and arousing, even more, his desire for the human. So much tenderness gets to him, he doesn’t deserve it, he will miss it and find it nowhere else. It will hurt… and he’s had his fair share of pain. “If you do not lack sleep, we should fuck.” McCree chuckles behind him, and Hanzo uses the distraction to squirm out of his hold and climb up the bed, crawling his way to the middle suggestively.

“I’d sure love to make a mess of you again,” McCree admires the sinuous spine of Hanzo arching at him as he rests his chest on the mattress and glances back at him over his shoulder. Hanzo spreads his knees and offers a show that clenches his stomach in a ball of pleasure and hardens his cock in a heartbeat. McCree swallows, unable to get his eyes off that abused hole he will abuse again, and again until he passes out. “Let me find the lube.”

“Here,” Hanzo says, reaching for the lost bottle in a corner of the bed. “But I am drenched in your cum, gunslinger.” A predatory smirk bares pointy fangs. Hanzo knows exactly what he’s doing and far from disappointed, McCree falls for it, charmed and bedazzled.

“God, you’re dirty when you want to, darlin’.” He kneels between Hanzo’s legs and scoots closer, so close his cock rests between his butt cheeks and their thighs huddle together in a bounding bundle. He squeezes some lube in Hanzo’s spine and a clear trail goes down his cleft. “I could get lost in your ass for a lifetime,” he mumbles while two relentless hands fondle Hanzo’s ass greedily and he brushes his cock along his rim.

“How can you be so hard again?” Hanzo moans, bracing himself on his forearms and pushing back to get more of that delicious length tempting him. McCree strokes himself with his ass, in a slow glide back and forth the lush curve of his cheeks. A spurt of pre-cum drips down the dimples of his back while droplets of his come ooze out of Hanzo. The vampire feels it and rocks his hips, trying to angle himself to get an inch of that glorious cock. “Do not tease,” he snarls.

“I’m just taking my time,” McCree drawls. He spreads him widely and tugs right into his slicked hole with the tip of his cock. Hanzo moans, whining at the two hands keeping him in place and wide open for him. His lovers don’t usually dare to tease or to be rough, but with him, sex is a whole new experience once again, and after four hundred years that is saying something. McCree takes himself in hand, and teases some more, leaving a glistening trail right on his stretched hole and watching how it flutters at his caresses, wanting to swallow him whole.

“Fuck me!” Hanzo growls, but it sounds more like a desperate moan. McCree chuckles and slaps him playfully with his length which ends with the vampire’s patience. Hanzo turns around and frees himself from his teasing hands in a sigh, rolling over him in a side somersault. The vampire tackles him on the bed, McCree’s back against the bouncing mattress while he straddles him triumphantly and pins him in place with his powerful thighs. “Now what, gunslinger?” Hanzo brags, rocking his hips against his lower stomach and bracing himself in his muscled, fuzzy chest.

“Going for a ride, darlin’?” McCree’s upward face shows a wolfish grin that delights Hanzo. Not a single hint of fear or doubt in his eyes, only lust, as the hands already fondling his thighs prove.

Hanzo smiles mischievously, taking the excess lube from his ass and coating McCree’s hard length. “One you will not forget.” He lifts his hips enough to position the tip right where he wants. Hanzo moans at the sudden intrusion, cleaning his hand on the sheets and slowly taking him inch by inch a tad too greedily.

“Take your time,” McCree gasps, enveloped by his tight ass and leaving crescent moon indents on his skin. Hanzo ignores his suggestion, sinking his cock inside him in one long glide, reveling in the marvelous sensation at being wonderfully full and seated on his lap. “My god,” McCree moans, staring at an enrapturing Hanzo who moans at the ceiling and squeezes his pecs. He cannot move, he just drinks in the sight of the vampire, in how his perfect cock stands firmly and oozes pre-cum on his stomach, in how he fills him completely aching to buck his hips up and give him what he wants.

“That is way better,” Hanzo murmurs, glancing down at him with ruby eyes and bared teeth, risking a tentative movement up and down. It is thrilling, to be sated, fed, and full by a lover who swoons at him at every movement. He preens while being worshiped when those eyes rivet his body in praises. Hanzo plays with McCree, pulls him out to the very tip of his cock and then shoves him back in on his way down. Unrushed, unhurried, a sweet, slow torture he’s the master of and the only thing the gunslinger can do is grasp his ass bruisingly and guide his movements.

“Why is this so good?” McCree moans, his breath seizing every time Hanzo sits on his cock and he fills him to the brim. Hanzo chuckles adorably, never stopping, never giving him a chance to recover while he stretches himself with his girth. “Sex has never been so good, goddamnit,” he cries out, trying to buck his hips up to get more and faster.

“Easy there,” Hanzo teases, sliding down his torso with both hands while he changes the motion, rocking back into him like he’s been doing it his whole life, well to be fair, he’s had time to practice, and the realization hits McCree with a pang of jealousy. Of past lovers, of undeserving souls enjoying the wonders of his body and his heady presence when he wants to hoard them all to himself. “This is my ride,” he purrs, nuzzling at his throat.

McCree has more leverage in this position, groping for his ass and bucking up to fuck him faster, pumping his cock into his stretched hole and groaning loud at the jolt of pleasure curling his spine. “You’ve had your fun, darlin’,” he whispers into his ear. McCree spreads his cheeks, thrusting harder to steal one of those breathtaking noises from Hanzo. “Let me fuck you well.”

“How do you want me?” Hanzo capitulates too soon, and he curses inwardly his eagerness and how that cock pounding into his ass steals the reason out of him.

“Anywhere, anyhow,” McCree gasps. “But right now, on your fours, because I’m gonna give you what we both need.” Hanzo growls at how the gunslinger owns his fucking through tenderness, making him long for it and yield. He meets his gaze with a smug smile, running a thumb over his smiling lips.

“No more teasing.” Hanzo pulls him out and rolls to the bed followed close by him. The heat at his back and the soft kisses on his nape sends a shiver down his body, and Hanzo braces himself on the mattress once more, pressing his chest on the bed and anchoring himself on widespread knees. McCree nestles between them and shoves himself in an unmerciful onslaught. Hanzo hisses. They both moan while strong, demanding hands grip his waist and pulls him back when McCree thrusts forward. Indeed, the gunslinger owns his fucking and isn’t playing games. “Yes!”

McCree pants at the physical exertions, plunging in and out relentlessly and shoving himself balls-deep. He leads a hand to the front and takes Hanzo’s cock in a tight fist. The vampire moans and wrinkles the sheets when he jerks him off at the rhythm of his hips slamming into him. “Gonna come for me?” He teases, falling forward with a hand on the bed while his hips fuck into Hanzo frantically.

“Not yet,” he whines, burying his face between his forearms and lifting his ass to get more of that glorious cock splitting him open. McCree’s onslaughts are intense, the lingering burn is the perfect addition to the stretch, the fullness, and the timely brushes against his prostate that could send him over the edge without notice.

“Tell me if I’m being rough,” McCree whispers, landing the softest kiss between his shoulder blades. Hanzo chuckles, pushing himself up onto his hands to defy him. He always had a taste for playing with fire and getting burned.

“You could not even if you tried, gunslinger,” he purrs. The desperate growl coming out of McCree’s lungs announces he has taken the challenge, collecting his hair in a handful and standing back on his knees, bringing Hanzo up with him by a ruthless tug at his hair that makes him trash his head back. Hanzo moans and offers no resistance, arching his spine, so he gets the cock he craves while the gunslinger manhandles him at his will. His other hand dig holes on his butt cheek, spreading him and keeping him angled, so he can thrust in and out of his ass at the tempo his heart desires. Which is, to Hanzo’s pleasure, faultless.

“That’s how you like it?” McCree asks, out of breath, pulling at his hair to keep him up, slamming into him and filling the room with noises belonging to the colliding of their bodies at every lunge. And he goes unmercifully fast, and deep, and everything they need.

“I knew you had it in you,” Hanzo moans. “Fuck me harder. Fill me up.” A clear spurt leaks down the tip of his cock, and he aches to touch himself but he supports his weight on his own thigh while the gunslinger puffs his hot, ragged breath in the crook of his neck.

McCree won’t last but he damn well is going to make the vampire sing. “I’m gonna fuck you until the only thing you remember is my name, darlin’, and you got a lot of years ahead of ya’.” It shrinks Hanzo’s heart how true that is.

“Jesse,” his name leaves his lungs in a gasp, and he curses his weakness at the maddening fucking and how overwhelmed he is by the gunslinger.

“Yes, darlin’,” he whispers, clenching his teeth around his neck, tugging at his hair to angle his head back, to get a good grip there and pin him at his mercy while he fucks him. His cock barely leaves his body, he is contented with the friction of sliding in and out, plunging himself in the depths of his ass over, and over. Hanzo clasps their hands together on the grip on his hair and turns around to find his mouth.

“Jesse,” he whispers. “More.” A plea that goes right to his cock. McCree glides his wet tongue along his parted lips before he traps his mouth in a kiss. So wet and mad his body isn’t answering his brain anymore. He acts by instinct, by an urge bigger than themselves. His body answers to Hanzo, obeys only to him, yields and fits as though he has found his soulmate, his partner, where he belongs. Hanzo lets out a pity whine and clenches around him as he climaxes.

It’s the kiss that does it for him, the eager tongue assailing his mouth and fueling all his pleasure into an impending orgasm. He spills himself once more tonight -won’t even be the last- trapping that thick cock exactly where it belongs. McCree winds both arms around him, his hips fucking like a madman in a too-tight hole and his nose buried in the scent of cherry blossoms. His cock jerks and fills him with his spent while the gunslinger mumbles a blue streak of nonsense close to his ear. Nonsense that sounds like his name, like love, like more pleasure than he will ever find in the next thousand years.

“Hanzo…” McCree sits on his calves and brings him down with him, refusing to leave the safe refuge of his body too soon even though his loosened hole oozes his cum around his softened cock fights to slip outside. The embrace makes him feel wholesome, cared for, and Hanzo yields to the emotions he fights hard to avoid and never crave. Impossible, not in his wholehearted presence and swathed by his warmth.

“Good job, gunslinger,” he teases, pleased and sated like he’s never been in centuries. McCree peppers kisses along his shoulder and up his neck, ghosting his lips over the shell of his ear while Hanzo caresses his arms.

“You feel so good,” he drawls, his cock sadly slipping out of him. Hanzo notices the familiar rumble of sleep clinging to his words and turns about to kiss his lips, cupping his face with a hand warmed by his touch.

“You need to sleep.” Hanzo crawls forward, and McCree falls to a side, head on the pillow and hooded lids watching his every move as Hanzo attempts to leave the bed to freshen up.

“Where are you going?” McCree mumbles, snuggling between stained sheets but stretching an arm out to look for his touch. “Stay.” Hanzo smiles to himself, lying next to him and watching in awe how the gunslinger pulls him in a cage of limbs that holds him prisoner. Hanzo doesn’t mind, petting his hair and turning the lights off to spend the least lonely night in an eternity. “I’ll be ready for another in just a minute, darlin’,” McCree mumbles half-asleep.

Hanzo snorts. Not feeling alone is a dangerous thing to get used to, especially when it won’t last; when the day you less expect it loneliness will crush you under his wing to never leave you again. Hanzo revels in the beating of his heart, in the easiness in which McCree falls asleep in his arms and cradles him close to his heart. An unexpected warmth invades him at the same time an endless sadness conquers his heart. He should’ve stopped this sooner instead of falling into the void of tenderness the gunslinger offers. His only hope is to leave this in a one-night stand while deep inside, Hanzo knows it’s not. At least not for him. He cannot lie to himself on this.

The dawn came too soon to Hanzo’s taste and woke McCree up, but the gunslinger defeated him with kisses and slid home, making love to him half-asleep half-awake, pouring a blue streak of praises into his ear while their bodies glided together and succumbed to pleasure and desire as though it was a raw need for them. Perhaps in the first lights of the day, it was, at that moment when the world starts but you need it to stop. The gunslinger fell asleep at his back, puffing a warm breath on his nape and holding him close. Hanzo’s world crumbles around him, wishing for once he could shut up his brain and sleep, rest, and just feel the peace it offers. But he cannot, and squirmed out of his hold, scared of what it offers and he cannot keep.

Hours later, the noise of the door wakes McCree up, and he realizes he is drooling all over the pillow and his legs are tangled in mussed sheets. He cleans his mouth with the back of his hand and a dopey smile betrays him when he remembers last night. It was way too real to be a dream, and the sore muscles and Hanzo in a hotel’s robe carrying a tray that smells like heavens confirm everything happened. “Morning,” he says in a raspy, I-just-woke-up voice.

“Good morning,” Hanzo says. “Now eat.” He leaves the tray on the bed and reclines back on a bundle of pillows, taking the newspaper that came with pancakes, bacon, eggs, coffee, and juice. McCree stares at him with a half-smile, expectant, while Hanzo unfolds a newspaper and gets ready to read. He glimpses a frown and a deep sigh from the gunslinger.

“Any news from your brother?” he asks, straightening and digging into the pancakes a bit too eagerly. He’s starving, more for a kiss than for breakfast, but it’ll do. Perhaps last night was special only for him, and to Hanzo this is just another fuck to add to the things I did in this century: oh yes, I fucked a vampire hunter. His mood goes to hell and not even the sugary pancakes or the crusty bacon help.

“His phone is off,” Hanzo says, perusing over the daily news. “Genji will contact me as soon as he can, he always does.” He takes a peek at the cowboy wolfing down the breakfast with wild avidity and the corner of his mouth pulls upward. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, want some?” McCree lifts a fork with a bit of everything and Hanzo rolls his eyes. He chuckles at the gesture. A comfortable silence envelopes them, only disturbed by the noises he makes eating and the turning pages. He dwells on the morning kiss he wants and hasn’t gotten, but the comfort of the food and Hanzo’s presence soothes his soul. It could be worse, he has run away from many lover’s beds the morning after without even saying goodbye, and Hanzo could perfectly be downstairs enjoying the quiet and peace in the bar and instead, keeps him company.

McCree gulps down the juice and sighs, stretching like a lazy cat who got more sleep than he needed when he actually hasn’t. Hanzo leaves the paper aside and stands, finding his shirt and perching it from his forefinger while he arches a questioning eyebrow at McCree. “You ruined my shirt last night, gunslinger,” he says. McCree looks at him with a wolfish grin, his body barely covered by the sheets.

“That ain’t the only thing I ruined, darlin’.” He wiggles his eyebrows, amused, and Hanzo glares at him with a look that could kill and rip his soul. “Not even a snort?” McCree teases, standing in all his glorious nakedness, the sheets draping unceremoniously and exposing him. He ambles unabashedly toward him because after last night, he has nothing to hide. Hanzo narrows his eyes at him, a predatory smirk baring his fangs, unable to hold his smile any longer at the raunchy jest. McCree rummages for a moment inside his travel bag and takes off a cream and blue checkered flannel shirt. “Here, wear this.”

Hanzo discards his own shirt, leaving it on the dresser and stares suspiciously at the garment. “I am not wearing _that_ ,” he says, meeting his gaze. “First, it is way too big.”

“Like everything I got, sweetheart,” McCree teases, knowing he will steal another withheld smile from the vampire. “Roll it up.”

“Secondly, I do not wear polyester.” Hanzo glances up at him with a half-smile.

“It’s cotton, and it smells like me,” he drawls, leaving it on the dresser for Hanzo while he flicks his eyes briefly at those lips he’d love to take and kiss freely. McCree chickens out. “Gonna take a quick shower and we can get going.” He turns about, but a cold hand on his arm stops him.

“Jesse, last night…” Hanzo mumbles, his hand ghosting his way up his neck. He gives a step forward, standing on his tiptoes and doing what he swore to himself he wouldn’t do this morning or ever again. Hanzo presses their lips together in a tender, gentle kiss that tastes of syrup and coffee, things he never had when he was alive and that he cannot enjoy now that he is dead. He gasps when McCree winds an arm around his waist and pulls him closer, forcing both to deepen the kiss to his heart’s content. Hanzo yields gladly, loving a bit too much how McCree kisses him and tries to steal his breath away even if he cannot.

“… yes, it was, darlin’,” he whispers into his mouth. He got his morning smooch, and he feels like singing corny country songs in the shower, and as sure as hell the kiss has put a grin on his lips. With a last peck on those velvety lips that would be swollen and red if Hanzo were human and an ungentle squeeze at his ass, McCree whistles his way to the bathroom.

Hanzo smirks, taking a sidelong at him until he disappears into the bathroom. He takes the infamous flannel, lifting it to his face and nuzzling to catch the promised scent. “It does.” Hanzo curses under his nose how naïvely he is acting around McCree, falling for his flirting, the endearments, the raunchy jokes and hopes to gather enough strength to resist his charms tonight -he already knows he’s lying to himself- and finish this business as soon as possible. They have to stop this before it goes too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and get ready for more! ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑
> 
> I want to point out that I tagged the story as "Light Angst" last chapter, firstly because Hanzo's background story is very sad and intense, and secondly because it will get a little angsty toward the end. I'm trying to build a different story here from what I'm used to, but don't worry, nothing too extreme and, of course, there will be a happy ending because making mi OTP happy through my fics is A MUST! (•‾⌣‾•)و ̑̑♡ 
> 
> Also, I'm already writing Chapter 6 and trying my best to resolve the plot as best as my skills allow me. Thank you so much for reading along and all your sweet comments and kudos!! ♡(.◜ω◝.)♡


	5. One way ride...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... straight to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's the hungry one on this one... ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

The gunslinger proves to be a much nicer company than Hanzo imagined. He’s used to his annoying brother and the endless bickering about every little thing -and yet, an eternity without Genji would be a nightmare worse than what it already is- but McCree drives quietly, knows when to talk, when to enjoy a comfortable silence, or when to turn the radio on for background noise. The worst part is that it makes Hanzo laugh and smile as though he were a rascal in love, and the banter about this and that just flows. It’s unnerving how little self-control he has over his emotions when he’s around the gunslinger. He should’ve let Genji take the lead on this one, but then the thought sends a pang of stupid jealousy and possessiveness through him. Something Hanzo cannot allow himself to feel.

The four hour’s drive pass by like they’re nothing and the rainy weather of London greets them and fills the car with the noise of raindrops crashing against the roof. They left the hotel in the afternoon, and the sun has already set as they arrive. Part of him wishes to say goodbye, to book a hotel room for himself and wait until tomorrow to meet with Gabriel Reyes, but the other part, the one he is so angry at right now, wants to stay with McCree tonight and indulge in more raunchy, top-of-the-class sex. No, Hanzo hasn’t had enough and the lingering smell of McCree clinging to his shirt and reminding him of his warm body on top of his own isn’t helping either.

A withheld smile fights to stretch his lips when McCree struggles to open the door of his flat and shoulders his way in. “Tricky lock,” he mumbles, resting the travel bag on the kitchen counter and turning the lights on. Hanzo scrutinizes the space from the threshold. The apartment reflects the gunslinger’s personality better than he imagined. It is tidy, sober, browns and greys dominating the space; a cozy blanket over a leather couch snitches how he must spend his time off. He takes a peek inside; there are no walls, the bed is behind a bookcase that serves as a room divider with the living room, and the brick walls and columns stand out even more than the two big windows where the rain taps relentlessly. “What are you waiting for?” McCree asks.

“You have not invited me in,” Hanzo pouts slightly, folding his arms on his chest.

“That shit is for real?” McCree blinks twice, mouth agape. Hanzo lets out a hearty chuckle and steps inside the apartment with a smug smile all over his lips. “Very funny,” McCree mutters, suppressing a half-smile and failing miserably while he closes the main door and takes a sidelong at Hanzo’s backside. It’s like he’s inviting a date more than a business associate, and he isn’t even guilty about it.

As soon as he gets inside, Hanzo glimpses the bathroom and the kitchen on the other side. Small, welcoming, smells like tobacco and fresh rain, and of him, awfully of him. “This is quite a home.”

“It’s my place,” McCree says, picking a beer up from the fridge and removing the stopper on the counter with a thump. “But that’s far from being a home.” He takes a long gulp at the brew and watches Hanzo inspecting the living room and ghosting his fingers over the back of the leather couch. It’s weird that a vampire is here, but McCree loves to see him touching his things, ambling toward the windows, and staring listlessly outside. The not-so-stranger fits here. Hanzo glances at him over his shoulder and McCree irremediably smiles. “Wanna have a drink?” He lifts playfully his beer. “Oh shit, m’sorry.”

Hanzo chuckles. “I will have a drink of you later.” The lusciousness of his voice and what it suggests curls up his stomach nice and warm. McCree distracts himself with the contents of his fridge to avoid Hanzo’s gaze but decides the sandwich he had earlier is more than enough and closes it swiftly, swaying his way toward the couch.

“Reyes will arrive in London tomorrow,” McCree says, slumping on his couch and watching how Hanzo takes a seat at his side. “You’re about to get rid of me.” He gives a long gulp to his almost finished beer. Hanzo snorts.

“If we find Gérard…” Hanzo gathers his thoughts before he continues. “Your boss might not like what we find.”

“He’s a vampire, ain’t he?” Hanzo nods. “Damn it.” McCree clicks his tongue before he finishes his beer and leaves the bottle on the coffee table. He's been dreading to ask for a confirmation for a while now.

“There was no other way.”

“Was it you?” McCree asks, hunching over his knees and meeting his gaze.

“No. I will never turn a human into this.” Hanzo’s ruthless words break McCree’s heart for some reason. “I doomed my brother and I will go to hell for it one day. Never again.” McCree swallows at the burden Hanzo wears over his shoulders and cannot let go. But far from pity, he believes Hanzo can’t see the big picture and is stuck with something that, in fact, saved both and their home.

“What else do you know?” McCree tries his luck since they know each other better than a day ago.

“Amélie did not tell me why they killed him, I suspect her husband keeps it from her to protect her,” Hanzo says. He doubts Maximilien has spread the news that Lacroix is alive, so the farce plays in the omnic’s favor as long as he can find and kill his target before it’s too late. And the only way to find him is through Reyes. When he informed the Talon Council about the assassination and the new addition to the vampires, they revolted in chaos, expecting something like this would happen since Amélie cut strings with them and married Gérard. It is almost a joke that an Overwatch leader who has hunted and imprisoned so many vampires among their lines has become one of them. Talon will avoid meddling in the issue for as long as they can, hoping Gérard ends up dead one way or another. That’s why everything falls into Overwatch’s jurisdiction.

“Too many secrets for my liking,” McCree mumbles, interlacing his hands and resting his chin over them. He sighs.

“I would tell you more if I could,” Hanzo says and the corner of McCree’s mouth pulls upward in a half-smile. “She had no other choice.”

“Is death really so bad? People die all the time,” McCree says. Fearing death is something that never crossed his mind; when it comes, it comes and he’ll be ready. In his kind of work, he deals with death and danger too often to worry if the next bullet will kill him or not. He’s been lucky so far.

“I would give anything to live and die, but I am neglected of both.” Hanzo reclines back, crossing his legs and staring at the gunslinger.

“You seem pretty alive to me, darlin’,” he drawls.

“Far from it,” Hanzo says wryly. “Love makes you do stupid things, that is why they got married in the first place,” he jokes. “It was a beautiful wedding though…”

“I always said Gérard was a fool in love,” McCree chuckles, but his laugh stops when Hanzo pulls at the hair tie and combs his hair with deft fingers. His silky, long hair drapes beautifully at both sides of his face and steals his breath away. He swoons with delight.

“What are you looking at?” Hanzo teases, smirking smugly.

“Have you always been this pretty?” McCree blushes at the statement, reclining back and wishing they were closer so he could touch him. As though Hanzo had read his mind, he scoots closer and McCree stretches an arm on the back of the couch, ghosting his fingers through his hair. It sends a frisson down his spine.

“I look the same as the day I became a vampire,” Hanzo says with a sad smile, probably tired of seeing the same endless beauty at the other side of the mirror for centuries. No signs of time burnishing the perfect ridges of his features, no wrinkles, no white hairs, not a trace of life tarnishing his magnificence, except for a sheer purity that enslaves him and everyone who dares to lay eyes on him. The only scars in his body are the ones he earned in battle before that day, his tattoo, the perfectly trimmed goatee, and the traits he was born with. “A curse. I will never grow old.”

“You look young,” McCree says, tucking behind his ear a strand of onyx hair while feathery lashes adorn his cheeks. He knows they would be blushed if he were human. His thumb caresses the high cheekbone as he admires a pointy nose, and those damn lips he would die to kiss. His beauty is breathtaking, not because he is a vampire but because he was already ravishing when he was alive. McCree fantasizes about how would he look like with a ragged breath, flushed and sweaty by his lovemaking and suddenly, the lack of room in his jeans becomes obvious. “Really young,” he mumbles, his face portraying an innocence his eyes don’t match. “How old were you when… you know?”

“Almost twenty years old,” Hanzo says with a mischievous smile.

“What?” McCree clears his throat, a naughty smile creeping up his face. He’s thirty-something, it’s not like he didn’t expect Hanzo to look young and gorgeous when most vampires are attractive to the human eye, but he thought he’d be around his age.

“Genji was seventeen.” Hanzo bares his teeth adorably at the dumbfounded expression of McCree. “In my time we were adults, and now we will never age.” Hanzo traces McCree’s soft lines near his eyes as though he could read the episodes of his life in them.

“Darlin’!” McCree says, a wolfish grin stretching his lips. “You’re barely legal.” Hanzo rolls his eyes until he sees stars.

“I am four hundred years old, you fool,” he snarls, nudging him.

“C’mere,” McCree teases, throwing an arm over his shoulders and towering over him to press their lips together in a gentle kiss. He cups his face with a callous hand, humming faintly into the smooch. Hanzo smirks, gliding his tongue to part his lips and slid inside suggestively. He’s old and wise enough to realize he has found something in the gunslinger than you find once in a lifetime, and it shrinks his heart at the same time his mind ignores the warning signs and refuses to accept they will part different ways in the end. Sooner than expected, or already too late. “I’m technically older than you,” McCree mumbles against his mouth.

“Stop it,” Hanzo mutters, straddling him in a single movement and feeling the hard bulge on his groin when McCree gropes for his ass eagerly and brings him onward. Hanzo’s throat tightens at the sexual tension growing between them. The gunslinger can’t kiss him like that and expect things don’t escalate to the point where they both get naked and frisk freely for the rest of the night. A night alone in a hotel room, Hanzo chides himself for his stupidity, thrusting his tongue inside McCree’s mouth with a low growl and eliciting an intent moan from him. He stops the kiss to suckle on his lower lip, his hands cradling his face. Crimson eyes pierce his soul as those fangs pierce his skin, and McCree breathes out and relishes in the tingling sensation of Hanzo’s rough kisses.

“Ya’ hungry?” McCree says while he smirks. “Your eyes are red and you look at me like a snack.”

“I am never sated around you,” Hanzo whispers, lowering his hand to trace an artery at his neck and finding two healing dots there. He doesn’t need to feed this soon, but he is thirsty and hankering for a drop of his blood. “I never do this.” Hanzo hesitates, grinding their bodies together and growling deep down his throat at the pulsing point beating faster.

“You don’t feed on human lovers?” McCree teases, his hands traveling up to the small of his back inside his shirt, feeling cold, soft skin under his fingertips.

“I feed when I am hungry, gunslinger,” Hanzo says. “But I long for your touch as much as your blood.” He drags his lips over his mouth at every word, arching into the warmth of his hands roaming his skin. “I fear never having enough…” The raspy whisper leaves his mouth in a moan.

“I feel like that around ya’,” McCree says, trapping his mouth in a mad kiss to hide the love-struck glance on his eyes. He’s smitten with love and it’s too late to hide it, too late to run from it.

“Feeding was not a sexual thing for me…” Hanzo says, cursing the sincerity fit speaking for him.

“I find that hard to believe, darlin’.” A wolfish grin makes Hanzo chuckle.

“… until I tasted you,” Hanzo exhales a cold dead breath into his mouth. “And you get off while I feed,” he purrs, sneaking his arms over his shoulders, rocking on his lap to glide their bodies together and feel the desperation in McCree’s response, reacting to his touch, his movements, and growing harder beneath him.

“You feel so right it scares me,” McCree groans, lifting them both from the couch, ruled by a raw determination to get this vampire to his bed and cage him there for the few hours they have left. Hanzo wraps arms and legs around him sporting a smug smile. “I’m gonna eat you tonight, darlin’,” he mumbles into his mouth, bouncing Hanzo on his lap to secure his grip and fondle his ass. “Gonna taste you real good.” Hanzo moans, looking down at him, reveling in how he carries him effortlessly, like the most precious gift. His hair cascades down a side of his face, tickling McCree, and Hanzo bites his bottom lip wondering how could he fall for such a manly, handsome hunter only to torture himself missing his touch for the rest of eternity. But that is a problem for his future self.

“You may try,” he purrs into his mouth. A moan leaves his lungs when McCree pins him to a wall of his bedroom, using the leverage to deepen the kiss and press his whole body-length against him. While his tongue assails his mouth, McCree slowly lowers him down to his feet, his hands squeezing one last time his ass before they unbutton his shirt. As soon as those warm, callous hands fondle his chest, Hanzo grunts and leans into his touch, delighted by the softness, and the heat on his usually cold skin. “I thought it was my turn to fuck you senseless,” Hanzo teases, excited by the idea but also wanting to fit too many things in just one sinful night.

“If after what I’m gonna do you still want to, I’ll stand on my four and let ya’ have your way with me, sweetheart,” McCree says, dragging his lips down his throat while deft hands slide the shirt from his shoulders until it falls unceremoniously at their feet.

“Deal,” Hanzo gasps, bracing himself on his shoulders and the brick wall behind him. McCree nibbles his way to a perked nipple, flicking his tongue to wet his unmarred skin and mouth shamelessly until he steals the unalloyed moans he wants from Hanzo. He could listen to them for all eternity and never get tired. McCree unfastens his trousers and pries open his fly, disrobing Hanzo. The pants pool at his feet while he hooks his fingers on the waistband of his boxers and swoops them down at the same time he kneels before him. McCree ensconces himself between his legs and removes, one by one his shoes until he has a marble god standing in front of him in all his glorious nakedness. Hanzo is his tonight to feast and drown into his charms. “You are lucky I cannot get chilly,” he teases, petting his hair with a firm hand, unabashed of his nudity; of the firm cock standing between them but perfectly aware of his beauty and the love-struck glance McCree grants him. He rivets his eyes from his velvety lips to the ridges of his muscles and his thighs, but gets distracted and leans forward to map with kisses the hard cock at his reach.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” McCree whispers and Hanzo chuckles. McCree kneads his thighs while he gives long strokes of his tongue along his length, tasting him, and Hanzo glances down at him with a sweet smile and parted lips at the endless pleasure of his warm mouth. McCree’s hair gets in the way and Hanzo bites his bottom lip, hooking the hair tie in spread fingers. He collects his hair in a short ponytail and secures it, smiling smugly at McCree’s funny smirk as he drags his lips over his erection. “Having fun, darlin’?” McCree shakes his head playfully and the short ends at the front get loose.

“Do not ruin my work of art,” Hanzo teases, cupping his face with a hand, feeling the stubble and unkempt beard scratching his skin. “Also, you are wearing too many clothes…”

“And looks like I’m boring you ‘cause ya’ keep distracting yourself.” McCree spanks his side, rubbing a gentle hand to ease the sting. He locks eyes with Hanzo, reveling in the spark of amusement glittering in them. He gives one last kiss to the leaking tip and manhandles him around until Hanzo presses both palms on the wall and growls, glancing at him over his shoulder.

Two firm hands squeeze the length of his legs from the back of his knees up to his inner thighs, cupping his ass greedily. “Oh god, I’d die for your ass.” Hanzo chuckles, pushing back into his hands and feeling kind of exposed and defenseless in his presence. The gunslinger is determined to take what he wants tonight and he won’t deny him, not when it will bring him as much pleasure as last night. McCree kisses his way up the lush curve of his ass, digging his fingers into his flesh and taking his sweet time worshiping with love bites and flicks of his tongue his eternal body.

Hanzo flinches when McCree nuzzles between his butt cheeks and exhales a hot breath. It melts his spine and his legs waver. He’s no innocent, but in the gunslinger’s hands -and mouth- he turns into a wanton lover for his ministrations. “Do not tease,” Hanzo moans at the pouring of kisses McCree drops on his cheeks, at the hands kneading rhythmically his ass, and the wet tongue teasing where he doesn’t need to be teased.

“As you wish, my darlin’.” The words clench his stomach, his hands push into the wall, and he tries -and fails- to suppress an embarrassing moan at the first swipe of his sinful tongue along his cleft. McCree spreads him gently and eases his way in between with a brave tongue while he buries his face in his ass. Hanzo looks down, his forehead against his arm; his cock twitches when his tongue glides in long strokes between his butt cheeks. He wraps a hand around himself, goaded by impatience, and pumps his length to please the ball of pleasure down his loins.

“I thought your tongue was only capable of carrying an endless banter,” Hanzo teases while a mischievous smile bares his teeth. McCree’s retort is a harsh bite on a cheek and a not-so-gentle spank on the other. Hanzo growls. “Gunslinger…” The threatening tune dies in a whine when the wet muscle flicks lively right into his hole.

“Try to stand upright, sweetheart,” McCree croons in the most unnerving, smugly intonation.

“Oh, please!” Hanzo chuckles nonchalantly. “As though… ah!” A treacherous moan dies when he bites his own forearm to muffle it. McCree spreads him widely, cradling his butt cheeks into big hands and slicking his hole quickly in his spit with a twirling tongue. Hanzo’s stomach clenches and his legs are suddenly wobbly, but he eagerly pushes back into his face to get more of what he offers. He fists his cock tightly, a clear spurt dripping down his knuckles. McCree’s low chuckle would have brought the red up his cheeks, but Hanzo cannot find words or a quip when he has a tongue breaching through with expertise, so he yields, and moans, and fills the room with a thousand curses while he offers himself to him.

McCree regrets deeply not having disposed of his garments, kneeling awfully dressed behind a completely naked Hanzo and with his face comfortably buried in his ass. He loves doing this, he loves, even more, the noises filling his bedroom and the ass fluttering from sheer pleasure around his tongue. McCree intends to feast on him for as long as his knees allow him or until he comes hot and long only by his tongue. He fucks him faster, pushing in and retreating, prodding playfully to tease him and make him want more, surprising him with deep thrusts or coming back to a fast licking or slow strokes. Hanzo is still soft and tender, and he pushes his way in masterfully. McCree knows he’s good at this, and he aches for a brush on his own cock which jerks, trapped into uncomfortable jeans.

“More!” Hanzo whines. “Or fuck me already, but more…” There is nothing more beautiful than the pleading of your lover. McCree squeezes his butt cheeks before he slaps harshly his side, wishing he would leave a red imprint of his hand on it. Hanzo hisses, turning about to delight himself with the sight of McCree’s face shoved between his cheeks. That glorious, taut tongue finally fucks him how he needs, and Hanzo unconsciously spreads his legs wider and frees his cock to reach back and take a hand full of his hair, mussing his ponytail. He pushes his face into him. If the gunslinger won’t listen to his begging he won’t ignore his actions.

It works wonders, McCree thrusts his tongue in and out of his ass shamelessly, puffing his breath into his skin and drooling down his chin. Hanzo moans loudly, his hips fucking into thin air to get a relief that won’t come at the same time he threads his fingers on his hair, praising his doing and keeping him close. “Jesse,” Hanzo gasps. “Do not stop.” He lets him go, his hand coming back to his throbbing cock, and McCree, far from retreating, pushes in, squeezes and spreads him, and sinks his tongue deep up his ass. His balls draw up tightly, his hand pumps his cock chasing his climax, and the wet noises and hums behind him do it for him. Hanzo spills himself in a toe-curling orgasm, his legs trembling -McCree keeps him upright- his hand unable to stop the white spurts while his ass flutters and pushes his tongue out. As he draws out his pleasure in long strokes, McCree flicks his tongue along his hole and grunts, satisfied with his doing.

With a gentle bite on his butt cheek, McCree presses his tongue in the dimples of his back and drives a lewd, wet path up his spine, moving away his hair and finishing with a tender kiss on his nape. He sneaks a hand to the front and brings Hanzo toward him in a full-body caress even though he is fully dressed and Hanzo naked. “I bet no one has eaten your ass like that at least in the last century.”

“Cocky.” A grin creeps up Hanzo’s face, leaning back into his touch and turning his head to a side looking for his lips. “More like in my entire existence.” He earns a mad, wet, kiss at the praise, moaning faintly at how hot and swollen his lips are. He turns around into his arms, tucking a strand of rebellious brown hair behind his ear to no avail while he naughtily cleans his other hand on his shirt. Hanzo smiles like he’s never smiled in many years of solitaire wandering across the world, slaying the buttons of his shirt while he endures the tenderness of McCree’s pecks on his cheek and down the shell of his ear. He wished he had a heart racing at his touch because that is how he feels. Cold, freezing hands sneak underneath the shirt to map the expanse of his chest, and McCree shivers. “I am sorry,” he whispers, attempting to remove his hands.

McCree stops him, glancing down at him with glazed eyes and a love-struck he does not deserve. Taking his hand, he kisses his knuckles before he places his spread hand over his heart. “I don’t mind,” he whispers, a half-smile pulling the corner of his mouth upward. The beating heart turns Hanzo’s eyes into a predatory ruby color and he closes them, ashamed of living a life enslaved by blood and a raw need that will always rule his life. McCree lifts his chin with his knuckles and kisses the tip of his nose. “I’ll keep you warm in my bed, darlin’,” he drawls. Hanzo gives a last peck on his lips and ambles to the bed, glancing back and catching a glimpse of McCree removing his shirt and unfastening his jeans.

Hanzo pulls at the duvet and sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes following the spectacle that is McCree disrobing and baring his body. He has scars, more than he can count and many more under a layer of fuzz that goes from his chest to under his navel in a seductive path. “I am going to make a mess of your sheets,” Hanzo says, biting his lower lip when McCree swoops down his jeans and boxers and steps out of them.

“I hope so.” He walks toward him, gently tugging at his already steel-hard length. Hanzo licks his lips and McCree stops before him, offering a leaking tip.

“Is that for me?” Hanzo teases, letting his tongue out to lick at the tip and taste him. “How thoughtful…” McCree chuckles, but it turns into a gasping moan when Hanzo wraps his lips around the engorged head of his cock and circles his tongue around it. His hand moves to cup his face and McCree swoons with bliss at the bewitching sight.

“All yours, darlin’,” he drawls, a half-smile stretching his lips as he watches his cock disappear slowly into Hanzo’s mouth. McCree threads his fingers in the silkiness of his hair while the other caresses his way down to Hanzo’s throat. The vampire shoves his cock into his willing mouth and drags him out, his lips tightly wrapped around his girth and his tongue brushing the underside. He wants more and sways his hips in unison with his movements to never leave the wet comfort of his rippling mouth. Hanzo swallows him whole, throwing his arms around his hips, mouth wide open to accommodate his girth. McCree feels how his cock constricts Hanzo’s throat, and jerks for more, but Hanzo keeps him there, sucking rhythmically and humming the most enrapturing melody. A low growl reverberates from deep down his throat, McCree senses it with his hand and glances down at two crimson eyes that reveal more than the vampire wants. “Hanzo…” he whispers, and the vampire closes his eyes and bobs his head, dragging him in and out of the enticing cage of his lips, squeezing out of him spurts of pre-cum and shameful moans. Unable to help himself, McCree fucks gently his mouth, bedazzled by the sweetness of his face compared to the fierceness of his eyes, and utterly doomed by how he swallows and tightens his throat around his cock.

As he takes him out, Hanzo holds the hilt with his fingers, his thumb tracing circles at the root, his tongue twirling, teasing on his way out until a clear trail joins his bottom lip with the tip. “I love how big you are,” Hanzo purrs in a raspy voice.

“I like you can’t choke on it,” McCree jests playfully, and Hanzo rolls his eyes. “And I love how ya’ fake it.” Hanzo slumps back on the mattress in a fit of laughter and McCree hovers over him, watching in awe every precious grimace of happiness he can read on his face and those pointy fangs adorning his teeth. “You’re so pretty when you laugh like that.” Hanzo’s smile vanishes when those eyes fix his gaze on him and he feels naked and soul bared in front of the gunslinger. He should have never told him about his past, about his most private secrets, his burden, his cravings, but something deep down Hanzo tells him he would have found out about them on his own after the first kiss.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, this was an itch he urged scratching and nothing more, and suddenly, he has forgotten about Genji, Amélie and the mystery to solve because he only cares about his hands on him, his lips praising his mouth and his cock deep inside him. Four hundred years of restraint and lovers he kept at a comfortable distance to fall head over heels in less than a day for a vampire hunter with too many charms and the sexiest smile he has ever seen. Hanzo tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, the short ponytail still miraculously holding together. “Fuck me,” he commands in a futile attempt to hide the truths of his heart. This has to end, and he won’t have the heart to do it.

“You’re such a whimsy bottom, darlin’,” McCree teases, kissing the tip of his nose. “Not that I mind.” Hanzo chuckles, sneaking a hand down his stomach to find a firm cock coated in his saliva.

“I could fuck you, gunslinger,” Hanzo whispers in a honeyed tune while he fists his cock tightly and pumps his length. “Or ride you until dawn.” He lets his tongue out to part McCree’s gasping lips and to drink the moan that comes out. “I am an expert lover.”

“I’ve no doubt,” McCree croons, his hips rocking and leaning into his touch. “But I ain’t done with you yet, darlin’, and I’m starting to figure you out.” He leaves Hanzo longing for a kiss and his mouth wraps around a rosy nipple, muffling his moan. McCree sneaks a hand underneath his back and lifts him, crawling to the middle of the bed so they can lie comfortably while he sucks at his chest.

“Oh, have you?” Hanzo retorts, biting his lower lip to suppress a needy moan at the warm mouth suckling his nipple and hardening it in an instant.

“You like my mouth on you,” McCree drawls, dragging his lips over a perked nipple and tracing an invisible line to the other. “My tongue in you…” He bites harshly the other tip, sucking and pulling until he steals the alluring moan he was looking for. “And you got a soft spot that I’m going to exploit, sweetheart.” Hanzo moans again when the molten heat of his mouth takes a mouthful of his chest and sucks and bites while a naughty tongue flicks over his hardened tip.

“Bite me,” Hanzo whines, and McCree complies, knowing he can’t hurt him. He clenches his teeth around his flesh and sucks at his nipple, teases with his stubble, laps the ink on his chest; everything to make Hanzo tremble and breathe a sharp intake of air to exhale a lewd moan. He arches his back beautifully, pushing into his mouth while his hands cup his nape and his legs wrap around his waist. “Do you have lube?” McCree gives a long stroke over his nipple before he stretches his arm and opens the nightstand drawer. “Do you bring lovers here often?” Hanzo curses how needy and stupid his question sounds.

“Occasionally,” McCree says with a wolfish grin, flicking open the stopper and squeezing lube into his fingers, warming it up. He suspects Hanzo needs little preparations after last night, but McCree loves to make him struggle with his fingers. “It’s been a long time though…” McCree scoots closer between Hanzo’s thighs and mumbles a curse when the vampire spreads his legs for him, exposing his ass. The gesture will always curl up his stomach nice and warm.

“Do not sweeten it,” Hanzo pouts adorably, flinching lovingly when McCree pushes two fingers inside and squeeze them in gently.

“And never gorgeous vampires like you, my dear,” McCree teases, locking eyes with Hanzo while he thrusts his fingers in and out of him. “An _expert lover_ who has probably charmed every soul in his path and left them broken hearted…” His words bring a smirk to Hanzo’s lips. McCree knows he’s had lovers and finds useless to be jealous when he has Hanzo right where he wants. The only thing he regrets is that he won’t be able to keep him there forever, but he sure as hell intends to engrave himself in his mind and his body.

“Sweet talker…” Hanzo purrs, yielding to those spreading fingers and relaxing around them.

“You are my first, darlin’,” McCree says, leaning over him while stroking the length of his body and pinching a perked nipple. His fingers hurry to get his lover ready so he can sink himself in his embrace. _And my last_ , he wryly thinks. He braces himself on the mattress, kissing his abused nipples and peppering nibbles on his collarbone. “Ya’ jealous of the ones warming up my bed before you?” He teases, dragging his tongue up to his neck. The coldness of his skin is a familiar one he thrives to warm up with his ministrations.

“Overzealous,” he hisses, overconfident and possessive of the gunslinger on top of him. Hanzo’s eyes flare in a beautiful red, cupping his nape and tilting his head to a side while he ghosts his fangs over his exposed neck. McCree waits with a racing heart, puffing his breath on his neck, expectant, even his fingers stay still inside his ass. “May I?” Hanzo exhales in a sultry whisper.

“Darlin’ you don’t need my permission no more for that,” McCree says, gasping when he pierces his flesh with menacing fangs and ruby droplets precede the flow of blood that fills Hanzo’s mouth. He moans, lapping eagerly at them in quick movements of his tongue. Hanzo clenches around his fingers and it blows McCree’s mind, reminding him he still needs to work him open.

“You taste so right,” Hanzo moans, latching on his neck and rocking his hips so McCree takes the hint and fucks him with his fingers. He does, trapped by those teeth, shoving them deep and curling them up to brush his prostate and elicit more of those needy noises he gets from Hanzo.

“Take all you want, my dear,” McCree whispers, whining softly at the sting. His forehead rests on Hanzo’s shoulder while his lover feeds on him, and his fingers work relentlessly to find and rub his prostate. His own hard cock grinds against Hanzo’s stomach, and he desperately sways his hips to get more. A low purr comes out of Hanzo while he sucks his blood, his body reacting to the overstimulation all over, by his fingers, the soft kisses on his shoulder, the blood dripping down his throat and threatening to overflow his mouth at how eager he is. Hanzo’s cock twitches and shoots a clear spurt on his navel and McCree chuckles, curling his fingers and putting pressure again on the same spot. “Don’t come again so soon, darlin’,” he teases.

Hanzo grants him a harsh bite while he sucks, and McCree wails, shutting his eyes and panting until the vampire eases the clenching of his teeth and laps his wound between kisses and a blue streak of Japanese words he doesn’t understand but soothe his soul. “I am sorry I hurt you.” A sad smile conquers McCree’s lips. That bite is the least he will do to him, he knows this already. He stares at a set of heavy-lidded dark voids and two fags tinted in his blood. He collects a ruby droplet from the corner of his mouth, and Hanzo traps his thumb and licks it clean.

“I’m a tough guy,” McCree mumbles, enamored of his beauty, or worse, of him. He leaves him empty and slides next to him on the bed, pressing a caring hand on Hanzo’s waist so he rolls to a side. It’s no surprise how well they fit, how his thighs huddle underneath Hanzo’s, how the luscious curve of his ass suits seamlessly on his lap and how his throbbing cock already teases between his cheeks chasing to slide home. Hanzo snuggles against him, and McCree loses no time in stroking his rim and then slicking his cock with the excess lube.

“Jesse,” Hanzo gasps, turning about to kiss the sweet furrow between his eyebrows. McCree looks down, positioning the tip of his cock into his well-abused hole and plunging into him in a liable lunge upward, gripping his hip and smearing lube on his unmarred skin. A loud groan leaves his lungs as soon as he sheathes in his tightness, leaving crescent moon indents on his ass and a gentle bite on his shoulder. But McCree finds his velvet lips longing for a kiss and takes his mouth with the eagerness of a lover and the first cracks at a love he cannot reach. A love that will kill him.

“I’ll never have enough of you,” he whispers into his mouth, his heart swelling at the confession. And they stay like that, joined, their bodies committed to a sinuous glide that some would call lovemaking and others farewell. Hanzo takes his mouth, more starved for love than for blood for the first time since he became a vampire. The gunslinger has impossibly broken every wall, conquering his heart and filling it with hope, dreams, wants, and mores that will never become true; and it breaks his non-beating heart, so he drowns himself in the depths of his mouth, lifting his leg to deepen their fucking while McCree helps him, hooking it under his elbow. McCree thrusts faster, deeper, slamming forward in a mixture of frustration and raw need that shrinks his heart. “You were made for me, darlin’.” McCree bends his knee, brushing Hanzo’s balls with his thigh and perching Hanzo’s leg over his own while he wraps an arm around his chest and brings the vampire closer to him, to his heart, and to the moment they share. An intent moan comes out of Hanzo after a mindful thrust, and McCree kisses his cold, lifeless cheek with swollen lips.

“Do you always strive for perfection, gunslinger?” Hanzo reaches for his hair and threads his fingers on it, keeping his warm breath close to his cheek, and arching his back to get more of that delicious thick cock filling him.

“And here I was worrying too much ‘bout being sappy.” McCree swivels forward, sinking himself balls-deep into Hanzo and pulling out halfway right after keeping the tender-hearted tempo of his lovemaking.

“You are sappy,” Hanzo moans. “And cheesy,” he gasps. “And your endearments are so annoying,” he whines, surrendering to those hips pumping into him and filling him with a girth he finds absolutely wonderful and utterly heady. McCree bites his earlobe, suckling gently at it while he rolls a perked nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t push me darlin’,” he croons. “‘Cause I could call you sugar tits but I’m behaving,” he teases, a wolfish grin stretching his lips. Hanzo lets out a hearty chuckle, delighted by the warm body at his back, swathing him with tenderness and lascivious movements that grind their bodies together and add a notch at their fucking.

“Touch me,” Hanzo whispers into his mouth. “Make me come around you.”

McCree maps the ridges of his timeless muscles down his torso, finding a firm, round cock near his navel. He wraps a hand around him, squeezing and fisting the head to coat his hand into his arousal. “Nice and slow?” It’s not really a question. McCree sways his wrist to stroke his cock at the same pace he thrusts in and out of him.

“As long as you do not cease.” Hanzo tugs at his hair, mouth agape, defeated by a too-tender lover that fucks his body and tears his soul apart. Hanzo turns about to kiss his mouth, twisted and lifting his leg so the wonderful thickness of his cock sheaths until the very hilt inside him. He is mad for him, enduring stoically the gentle slams and the luscious rocking. A lovemaking full of emotion, intense. This is what he’s been craving all his life and now it’s happening only to graze it with his fingertips and lose it after.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” McCree whispers. “You’re so tight and feel so good.” He bites his shoulder to suppress a grunt. “I’m gonna come slow and deep inside you.” Hanzo moans, furious at how right that sounds, how alluring, McCree nuzzling at his cheek while their bodies coalesce in a single moment and a single movement.

He cannot take this from him, his passion, his life; he doesn’t deserve it. McCree deserves a real chance, a partner, a family, a beating heart to match his own and not a demon that will only bring death and insanity into his life while stealing all these good and pure things away. The dragons know he had wanted them for himself for so long he won’t condemn the gunslinger to an empty life, and here he is, stealing treacherously these moments from fate without little remorse.

Hanzo spills himself after a smart squeeze from McCree who milks him dry, pumping his cock at a leisure pace, deliciously trapped by the clenching of his ass around him. Hanzo lets out a moan and sheds a tear that runs down his cheek, giving all the gloomy thoughts away. “Jesse,” he mumbles. “Come in me.”

“My darlin’,” McCree whispers, licking the importunate salty droplet and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. He fucks him as promised, like a madman starved for love, slow and deep, relentless, letting his orgasm overflow him bit by bit as he slides in and out of him. He pants, a thin veil of perspiration glistens in his skin, and with an onslaught that buries him deep inside the wonders of his body and a needy cry, McCree climaxes. His cock jerks and fills him in a hot gush of cum while his teeth clench around his neck. He still holds in his hand a softened cock drenched in come. McCree rocks into him until his spent cock slips outside followed by a pearlescent trail. His ragged breath echoes in the room, sated and broken-hearted.

A pregnant silence grows uncomfortable even if not a single drop of sweat can sneak between their bodies. Hanzo breaks it, turning around into his arms and trapping his mouth in a desperate kiss that stops his heart and seizes his breath, but then the vampire squirms out of his hold and sits on the edge of the bed, turning his back at him and wrinkling the bedding at both sides of his legs to hide his trembling hands. “Bathroom?”

“Near the kitchen, on the other side.” McCree frowns, leaning forward to ghost his fingers over his back. “Hey, honey, did I…?”

“No,” Hanzo says with a raspy voice, turning about and exposing bleary eyes that break McCree’s heart. “You know this has to end.” McCree sighs. “Before it gets worse.”

“I can handle a good fuck and breakfast alone,” McCree mutters, falling slack on his back and staring at the ceiling with burning eyes, enduring his glaring. Of course, the vampire would be the one to run roughshod over him. Because he is a damn fool who saw it coming and let him wreck him. A fool in love.

“I am what I am,” Hanzo says. A vampire, a demon, a monster who brings a death wish and an illusion of futile love. He is really an expert lying to himself and denying the evidence of what they just shared.

“I don’t care what you are,” McCree says, meeting his gaze. “Only who you are.” Hanzo’s broken laugh cracks his heart and clenches his stomach. “Laugh all you want, that thing back there was…

“… a good fuck,” Hanzo hisses. “And nothing else,” he whispers. “This will die on his own, you will grow tired and old and I will bear the consequences of this foolishness, hence it needs to end.”

McCree straightens, leaning on an elbow. “You got everything figured out, don’t ya’?” Hanzo turns about to meet his determined gaze once more, seems a cowardice not to. McCree has a worrisome knot between his eyebrows and a trail or dried up blood trickling down his neck that instantly tightens his throat. “Answer me.”

“Why do you even care?” Hanzo snarls, swallowing a thickness in his throat and feeling an emptiness hard to fill in his heart.

“’Cause you feel right,” he retorts, reaching for his hand with a trembling heart, hoping the vampire doesn’t pull away. He does not, so he clasps their hands together. “I need more than one night, more than one life… damn.”

“Tonight,” Hanzo concedes. “That is all we have.” McCree pulls at his hand, bringing Hanzo back to the bed and the mussed sheets stained with blood, lube and cum. He rolls on top of him with everything he’s got, his broken heart, his warm body, lust for centuries, and the useless promise for more. Hanzo crashes into his mouth, suppressing the endless sadness conquering his mind, pushing everything back to enjoy at least tonight, to cherish what they have before it withers unmercifully as time passes. He won’t see him growing old and disenamored of him, resentful of wasting his time in a soulless lover. He won’t retain him in a void of time to lose his life in the blink of an eye. Hanzo won’t ever condemn anyone to the living hell of bloodsucking and listless time he condemned his brother.

“Only two nights and a lifetime to forget you, darlin’?” McCree mumbles against his mouth with a hint of anger and a dose of unrequited love that stings like a knife through the heart. Hanzo traps him in a cage of limbs, his actions speaking the truth is heart masterfully hides.

“Better than throughout eternity.” Hanzo glides his tongue to part his lips and taste the wonders of his mouth before they succumb once more to the earthy pleasures that confess their love when there are no words left to say. Without measure, without doubts. A single night to bare their souls and scatter salt over bleeding wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I broke my heart writing this (۶ꈨຶꎁꈨຶ )۶ʸᵉᵃʰᵎ
> 
> Since Hanzo is 438 years old, I found myself researching the [Paleodemography of Medieval Population in Japan](https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/a448/2b477de340199259c0ff0f7bcd188ebc27d7.pdf). He would've been born in 1631, the early Modern Edo, and did you know life expectancy was barely thirty years old???? But since the Shimada family was wealthy, almost a royal dynasty... I think I can get away with it Σ(ノ°▽°)ノ
> 
> Also, the "You're barely legal" sentence is Captain's fault !! xDDD
> 
> See y'all on the next one! ~ヾ(＾∇＾)


	6. Baring the Devil’s mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ε=ε=ε=ε=ε” “(/*’-‘*)/

McCree wakes up with a hangover more painful than the time he downed a bottle of whiskey on his own after a self-loathing night. This one is a heartache caused by excess lovemaking with whom you cannot attain but still filled your soul with so many dreams that will never come true. He rolls to the other side half-asleep, but there is no one there as the definitive proof of his loneliness. He was hoping to find his luscious body at his back, finding nothingness instead. McCree buries his face in the pillow, inhaling the scent of cherry blossoms, unrequited love, and unrestrained sex.

Reality hits him hard, and he straightens in the middle of tumbled sheets, hunched over himself and trying to unravel where did he fuck up; where did he let his emotions take over and fall for the impossible? Hanzo is right, this has no future and what he feels is something he will have to get over sooner rather than later. McCree climbs down the bed and runs a hand through his hair. Who is he trying to fool? He needs a shower and a cup of coffee. His heart leaps when he ambles toward the living room but Hanzo isn’t there either. Perhaps it’s for the best, it’s still early in the morning and McCree knows the vampire will come back to meet with Reyes and then disappear from his life as fast as he came in.

The shower washes away the imprint of the vampire in his skin but does nothing for the wounds of the soul and the bites still tarnishing his body as the reminder of how stupid it is to trust a vampire and to top it all, to fall for him. He spends forty-five minutes dwelling on it under a hot spray. _Damn fool_ , he repeats to himself, wrapping a towel around his waist and walking to the kitchen. He changes the filter and adds the coffee grounds before he goes to get dressed. This is him, a lone wolf, waking up alone and a coffee pot for one. When this mission is over another will come until he dies by a gunshot or a not-so-nice vampire rips his throat.

As he gets dressed, he avoids glimpsing at the bed and reminiscing the high points of last night with Hanzo. Because after the _break-up,_ they fucked, and then they fucked some more, and he swears he fell asleep drenched in sweat and cum and clinging to him. Now he wonders how is he going to be able to sleep on that bed again without getting a raging boner and a weeping heart. A fool. McCree curses under his nose and pulls at the sheets with disdain, leaving them on a bundle in a corner of the room. Sleepless nights after he’s gone swathed by his scent is not what he needs. McCree empties the dirty clothes of his travel bag there too and weights Peacekeeper in his hand. “At least I got you, baby,” he mumbles. Grabbing a metal box in a drawer of the dresser, he enters the living room and slumps on the couch with a deep sigh.

Cleaning Peacekeeper always brings him some peace of mind and warms his heart, so he does just that, brushing the cylinder and the barrel, and rubbing and oiling the metal surfaces. He always smiles when doing this, it reminds him of his father and the many things he learned from him before he passed away. It all went downhill after, joining the Deadlock gang, not giving a shit if he lived or died. Stealing and killing on a daily basis made him forget who he was, but then it got better because it always does. Reyes helped him find himself again, a purpose, a life worth living. McCree rubs the back of his neck, his hair still damp, grazing the mark of the fangs on his neck and following down his shoulder. The invisible mark of Hanzo’s kisses sting a tad more; he gets a lump on his throat hard to swallow. Those will fade, will his memories fade too?

The smell of freshly made coffee fills the room, but he is immersed in his thoughts, trying to remember the feeling of his velvety lips over his skin, over his mouth, down his hard cock, owning and willing, and marking everything at his reach with a possessiveness no other lover showed to him before. If Hanzo were here, he could steal a kiss. A sad smile creeps up his face unannounced. At least one last kiss to try to convince him they could be doing just this for as long as they wanted. _If_ Hanzo wanted. A thump on the other side of the door startles him and his heart leaps. “It’s open!” he voices out, leaving the gun on the coffee table in front of him and wiping his hands with a clean cloth as he stands.

McCree tries hard to conceal the disappointment on his face when Gabriel Reyes comes in with dark under eyes matching a black leather jacket and with a smoke in hand. “Morning, kid,” he says, closing the door with a heel tap and taking a long drag.

“I wasn’t expecting you ‘til later.” McCree stands, fetching an ashtray from a nearby side table.

“Took an early flight and now I’m jet-lagged as hell,” Gabriel says, leaning over a stool on the kitchen counter while glancing at him. “Where’s my witness?”

“He’ll be here.” McCree slides the ashtray on the counter and busies himself preparing two mugs of coffee. He knows how Reyes likes it: black no sugar and if it’s a bit stale all the better. Two sugars for him today, life’s bitter enough this morning.

“You said this was important and you lose my witness?” Reyes arches an eyebrow and taps the ashes. “Never trust a vampire…” He accepts the mug and sips.

“I ain’t in the mood for a scolding, Reyes,” he warns, leaning on his forearms over the counter with a comforting hot coffee between his hands.

“Debriefing it is. What happened?” he takes a quick puff, meeting his gaze.

“Gérard is alive.” He watches Gabriel’s features freeze, gobsmacked at the news. “Kind of.” Then the anger, and the deep sigh before he puts the cig out, reaching for the pack on his inner pocket and tapping a new one out. The filter sticks to his lower lip as he lights it, and McCree takes a long gulp at his coffee. There’s no need to say it out loud.

“I expected that outcome since he married her,” Gabriel murmurs, a cloud of smoke leaving through his nostrils. “So, he’s a vampire, where is he then? I’m guessing she killed him and turned him, but why would he fake his death?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” McCree wets his lips. “Gérard found out something and pissed a big bug.” Gabriel is angry, he can tell, and as soon as he finds out an omnic is behind this whole mess it won’t get any prettier. Deep down, McCree wished this was only about a man wanting to be a vampire to live happily ever after with his wife.

“Who?”

“Maximilien allegedly assassinated him.” McCree drops the bomb. The omnic isn’t in good terms with Overwatch, siding more with the vampires and collecting power and resources anywhere he can. Gabriel Reyes doesn’t play by those rules and Maximilien has given him more than one headache in the past. If the omnics had a mafia, Maximilien would be their ringleader, but of course, to the public eye he’s a diplomat fighting for their rights. Overwatch has their hands tied up regarding omnics, the negotiations of peace between Tekhartha Mondatta and the government wouldn’t survive the scandal.

“Exactly what we needed,” he huffs. Gabriel rolls his eyes and inhales a lungful of smoke. Reyes is already dreading the paperwork he will have to go through before he can even put a finger on Maximilien unless they have solid evidence and not just confirmed suspicions. “What is it worth killing a happily retired founder of Overwatch?”

“I don’t know, nobody does,” McCree explains. “We need to find him.”

“And that’s where your witness come in handy?” Gabriel says. “Who is he, besides a vampire?”

“Hanzo Shimada.” The name burns in his throat, and his hand goes to brush against the two dots adorning his neck, hoping his boss doesn’t notice. “He wants to talk to you in Amélie’s name.”

“She should have come herself.” Gabriel opens his arms invitingly, still resentful of Gérard’s betrayal, leaving him alone with Jack in a bad moment to marry a pretty face with a castle in ruins. As soon as he dug up into her past, he knew this wouldn’t end up well, but the fool ignored the warnings.

“Maximilien has her,” McCree says. “He blew up the party when he found out Gérard was still alive and kicking.”

“What do you mean _has her_?” Gabriel frowns.

“He wants to finish the job, find Gérard, kill him, and marry the widow for…”

“… fucking money.” Gabriel sighs, sipping at his coffee. He should have gone there himself, to the funeral, to the damn masquerade ball; cutting strings with Gérard was hard enough at the time and now it’s too late.

“I think there’s more to it.” McCree finishes his coffee in a long gulp, running a hand through his hair and glancing up to the ceiling to release the tension.

“The hell it is,” Gabriel says with an intent furrow between his eyebrows, stretching out to grip McCree’s jaw and tilt his head to a side. “What the fuck did you do, kid?” McCree clicks his tongue and slaps his arm away. “You’re into that now?”

“I’ve everything under control,” he lies, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling the red come up his cheeks. He knows what Reyes thinks about vampires and getting involved with them, and he has broken every single rule since he met Hanzo.

“I thought you were a smart kid,” Gabriel chides.

“Where were you anyway?” McCree retorts, diverting the conversation to something that does not involve Hanzo, sucking blood, or fucking vampires. The marks on his body are proof enough of what he’s been doing the last couple of days, and Reyes is smart enough not to inquire further.

Gabriel exhales loudly through his nostrils. “New York.”

“Jack?” McCree asks with a funny tune and a supercilious curl of the lips. “Stop pining for your ex and get back together already, for god’s sake.”

“Says the walking snack,” Gabriel retorts, putting out the cigarette with a feigned offense.

“I was experimenting, okay?” McCree says, leaving the mug on the sink and rounding the kitchen counter to face Reyes. “It’s already over,” he claims. “I had my fun…”

“Oh! I’m sure you did,” Gabriel teases, pointing at his neck. It’s getting on McCree’s nerves the way he says it as though it was something to be ashamed of when he’s not and he’d do it again a thousand times. Not that he would say that to him.

“It was a onetime thing!” he yells. “I fucked the guy because he’s hot and it was convenient.” Gabriel snorts, flicking his eyes at a movement behind McCree and the front door opening a tad too silently for McCree to notice in the middle of his tantrum. “But I ain’t pining for a damn bloodsucker, damn it. I know better than that.” McCree shrugs at Gabriel’s silence and the withheld smile of his boss. “What?” he snarls, knotting his eyebrows.

Hanzo clears his throat, closing the door with a thump and leaving a shopping bag near the couch. McCree mumbles a curse under his nose, turning beet red and biting his bottom lip, ashamed of the blatant lies he just blurted out to Reyes. The bastard has a smug smile on his lips and is surely suppressing a guffaw. His morning just keeps getting better. He turns around to face Hanzo, an unreadable and cold expression on his face. He probably doesn’t even give a damn at what he just heard. “Someone went shopping,” McCree says.

“Now I get it,” Gabriel whispers more to himself than to McCree as he takes a sidelong to the vampire, but the gunslinger shushes him.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reyes,” Hanzo says, walking toward him and ignoring McCree’s comment about his busy morning. Hanzo wouldn’t stand to wear his clothes again, and getting out of bed before he indulged himself in more inappropriate morning cuddles was essential to protect his heart and be true to his promise: last night was all they had and it’s over. It stings to find out the gunslinger is more relieved than pained, but it’s for the best; after all, it was his decision. One he took again this morning while watching him sleep peacefully and sated before he squirmed out of his hold with a heart shrank in fear at what he cannot aspire to and never will.

“Call me Reyes.” They shake hands while McCree tries to recover from the howler. “Where is Gérard Lacroix?”

“Straight to the point,” Hanzo says, arching an eyebrow. “I do not know where he is, as I have told your associate.” McCree snorts at the title. “But I got a call from my brother this morning.” He pauses, glancing briefly at McCree and finding eyes filled with remorse. “He and Amélie are safe and traveling to London.”

“Family reunion,” Gabriel wryly says.

“It would be wise to assume Maximilien will try to find Gérard here where everything seems to converge.” Hanzo notices the spark of anger in Gabriel’s eyes and the racing of his heart at the mention of Amélie.

“Where?” Gabriel asks, getting impatient at the intrigues he’s not used to.

“Amélie said you would know where to find him.” Gabriel exhales a sigh of frustration at how useless that information is to him. “Where everything began, she said because that is what Gérard told her.”

“That ain’t helpful, darl…” McCree clears his throat.

“Tell me everything you know,” Gabriel hisses, locking eyes with the vampire and realizing he won’t get anything from him acting like an asshole, but he will never trust Amélie, not on this, she still could be behind everything and trying to find Gérard through him.

Hanzo narrows his eyes, trusting Overwatch over his own Council seems like a betrayal, but he has no other choice. “Amélie found him bleeding to death,” Hanzo says. “Maximilien’s henchmen put a bullet close to his heart in their own home and gave him for dead. She turned him into a vampire to save him from a certain death.”

“You could’ve told me that,” McCree mutters, rounding the kitchen counter to get another coffee for himself.

“Why?” Gabriel asks.

“Gérard did not tell her, he said the information he had is a death sentence for whoever had knowledge,” Hanzo explains, his eyes piercing McCree’s back but returning to the Overwatch founder quickly. “He fled from there soon after my brother and I arrived, we helped her sustain the charade of his funeral and hoped Maximilien would not find out until Gérard solved the situation.”

“Which he hasn’t, clearly,” Gabriel says, putting out his third cigarette and pinching the bridge of his nose, anticipating a headache from lack of sleep and too much trouble.

“This is huge, they dug up the casket, for god’s sake,” McCree snarls.

“Did you find anything on his home?” Gabriel turns his attention to McCree.

“Nothing but a picture of you two with Jack,” McCree says. “Not that I had much time to look around.” He takes a sidelong to Hanzo who childishly ignores him. If this is how it’s going to be from now on, it’ll make everything easier. “It said _London, 2045_ on the back and nothing else.”

“The bastard kept it.” Gabriel chuckles, standing and ready to leave. That picture hung from the wall of their first office here in London; back when they founded Overwatch and naively believed they had a purpose beyond politics and death. “Thank you for your help,” he says, extending a hand to the vampire. “I hope you stay around until we solve this issue.”

“Of course.” Hanzo shakes his hand again. “I am keen to see Amélie and her husband reunited, they are very dear friends of mine.”

Gabriel grants him a half-smile as a goodbye, grasping McCree by the neck and forcing him to walk toward the front door abreast him. Only when they reach the landing of the stairs he stops, scowling at McCree. “Now tell me, kid,” he whispers. “What did you do?”

McCree swallows, his heavy heart evident in his sad eyes that usually glitter with mischief and funny quips and they seem dull and weary today. “Fall hard.” There is no point in denying it, he knows Gabriel can read him like an open book and their quarrel earlier means nothing.

“Well,” Gabriel clicks his tongue. “Don’t ask me to be your wingman, you know the answer to that.” He sighs, patting him on the upper back while McCree remains silent. “I need a bed and a whiskey, I’m not sure in what order.”

“I’ll call you if I discover anything else.”

“Come by the headquarters later, we’ll figure this out.”

“Yes, boss.” With a nod, Gabriel disappears down the stairs and he enters his apartment, finding Hanzo looking outside at the grey sky with both hands at his back. His hair is loose, and he wears new clothes. Stripped suit trousers and a deep blue shirt rolled to the elbows. His tattoo stands out proudly and McCree wonders how did he lure such a beauty into his bed only to lose him right after. He turns around to look at him with cherry eyes tired of bearing a burden for centuries. He steals his breath, and McCree approaches him carefully, not knowing where they stand and fearful of the distance growing wide between them. It’s killing him. “I’ve been an asshole.”

“You were right, gunslinger,” Hanzo says with a half-smile that bares a fang but doesn’t reach the crimson shine on his eyes. “We had our fair share of fun together but your lifespan falls a bit short to my liking.”

“Now you’re being an asshole,” McCree mutters.

“It is better like this,” Hanzo says. McCree wants to reach out to him, say something that will change his mind to bring him back into his arms, but what he manages is to caress the high point of his cheekbone with his knuckles as only the most tender lover would. “You go back to your life and not fucking vampires and I… -Hanzo swallows, his throat tightening at the gunslinger’s proximity-… and I…”

McCree cups his face, towering over him with the advantage of his height and crushing their lips together in a kiss that tastes so bittersweet he fears it’s the last. And with all that, Hanzo kisses him back, rounds his neck with both arms and stands on his tiptoes, parting his mouth so willingly McCree instantly knows the words that come out of it are blatant lies. “Stubborn,” McCree mumbles, fueled by how frustrating it is to open his heart only to be rejected on what would or would not happen in forty years. He’ll die, so what? He’d live by his side and die a happy man. It may last a year or twenty, it doesn’t matter.

“I do not want you,” Hanzo hisses, biting his lower lip ruthlessly until a ruby droplet blurts out. He licks the small sample of the most delicious blood he has ever tasted and brushes his lips over it as a sincere apology. He will yearn for him every day, and he’s got too many in front of him it seems unbearable.

“You do.” McCree breathes hot into his mouth, almost tasting the victory itself that would be Hanzo Shimada surrendering to his charms and admitting he wants him. “Since you saw me. Since I saw you.” He squeezes him into his arms, the familiar weight of his body molding into his own. How would he love to drag him to bed and fuck some sense in him!

“I will not see you tied to a walking corpse,” Hanzo mumbles. “I will not condemn you to…” McCree shuts him up with another kiss to muffle this nonsense, assailing his mouth madly, forbidding the sting in his eyes ready to turn into tears he cannot afford to shed. If only he could make him understand it’s already too late, that a red string has wrapped tightly around his heart and will strangle him whenever Hanzo walks away from him. They’re bound to each other. But as he deepens the kiss and Hanzo melts in his arms, he knows he won’t change his mind.

Their last kiss won’t be a sad one, so McCree gropes for his ass with a hand while the other pushes the back of his nape into is demanding lips and then he pours his soul, his unrequited love, and everything he has refused to give to anyone in his life right into his velvety lips and parted mouth. Just for him, as his farewell, because if Hanzo doesn’t want him no one will. Either he infuses some sense in the vampire or loneliness will haunt him, pursuing undeserving, empty lovers, hankering for his touch and dreaming of his laugh. He may be a damn fool but a one in love. “Please,” Hanzo whimpers, squirming out of his hold.

“Darlin’,” McCree pleads with swollen lips.

“I have to go.” Hanzo picks up the bag near the couch, glancing at McCree’s bleary eyes with his own, ignited by his love and the beating heart that drums the song he would have loved to listen when he was alive but not anymore. Why now? Why when he cannot aspire to a normal life filled with exhausting, shameless nights and sweet morning cuddles under a blanket. “I made reservations for me and my brother. Thank you for your hospitality.” His voice doesn’t crack, but the warmth in his heart fades.

“We still need to find Gérard.” McCree clenches his fist at both sides of his body until his knuckles are white. His heart would scream if it could, instead it thumps at the imminent farewell.

“Reach me out at the Alderworth Hotel if you need my help,” Hanzo says, scooting toward the door to put distance between his one true love and his soulless existence. He leaves because he loves, Hanzo reminds to himself. “I will not be staying long.” Hanzo flees from his apartment faster than he came into his life, and McCree leans back into a cold widow, slowly slumping into the floor to muffle his weeping heart while he holds his head between trembling hands.

 

It hurts more than Hanzo imagined, but he fled from there leaving a part of himself behind forever with McCree. He should’ve stayed longer, shared more moments with him, but it all seems pointless. McCree will forget him, go on with his life, and their time together will be a pleasant memory with a bittersweet taste. Hanzo won’t; he will treasure this as the gift it is for as long as he’s bound to walk the earth. He fumbles for a moment with the card key of the hotel, defeated soul and body because he has spent the last few hours wandering the streets, lost, carrying a heavy heart. As soon as he opens the door and the clear laugh of Genji reaches his ears a half-smile pulls the corner of his mouth upward.

“Anija!” Genji calls, jumping into his arms, reminding him the sweet little boy he was when they were alive. “You look like shit,” he points out; which also reminds him the brat he was and still is.

“I am glad you two arrived safely.” Hanzo squirms out of his hold, leaving his shopping bag in a nearby chair and smiling at Amélie, comfortably reclined in a settee. “You look ravishing, my dear,” Hanzo says, approaching her and admiring how a grey pencil skirt hugs her shape, followed by a cashmere swan neck top that covers everything but leaves nothing to the imagination. He leans forward and kisses her cold cheek before he sits next to her, crossing his legs and letting a long exhale out that is so out of character for him. The other two vampires share a conspiratorial glance.

“Merci,” she says, feigning a smile. “I must agree with your brother, you look like a soul in despair, don’t tell me you bring bad news…” Hanzo waves his hand in the air to dismiss her worries.

“We have not found him yet, but I delivered your message as you asked.”

“It is killing me that I haven’t seen Gérard in weeks and I…” her voice cracks, and Hanzo takes her hand between his in a comforting gesture. He knows what she’s been through and how hard it must be. Mere hours apart from McCree and he already longs for his touch.

“He is fine,” Hanzo says. “That we know because Maximilien is far from pleased and has let you off the hook.”

“For now,” Genji adds, reclining on the dresser in front of them. Hanzo feels Amélie’s distress and hates himself for what he must ask.

“When I spoke with Mr. Reyes,” Hanzo says, and Amélie instantly lifts her eyes to meet his gaze at the mention of the former leader of Overwatch. “He seemed to hold a grudge on you for more than stealing his comrade away. Does he know?” Amélie leans her temple over his shoulder and Hanzo holds her, exchanging a puzzled look with Genji. “I do not mean to stir up the past…”

“He found out and warned Gérard about me when we first met,” Amélie says with a sad tinge on her voice. Gabriel had every reason to mistrust her and investigated her sudden interest in his best friend, and he was, indeed, right about her. The Talon Council sent her to spy on Gérard, get close to him and feed information about Overwatch, and so she did as commanded. “I needed a week to fall in love with him, chéri, and I confessed to him that I was a spy sent to him. He still loved me back regardless.”

“So when Mr. Reyes warned him, Gérard already knew,” Hanzo says with a half-smile, brushing her shoulder tenderly. The rest of the story is well-known, the couple eloping together and dodging fate. Gérard left Overwatch to not be a liability to his own organization and Amélie cut strings with Talon to be with him. At least they had a year of happiness before everything went to hell. You can make a man like Gérard quit his job but not change who he is. He pursued trouble but without the backup he used to have before.

“Precisely,” she says, leaving the safety of Hanzo’s embrace to recline on the couch.

“You knew he would not trust you and you sent me instead,” Hanzo says, not at all upset because this adventure has brought the gunslinger into his life even if it was for just a moment. “Although I am afraid he has trouble trusting vampires in general,” Hanzo mocks.

“I only wish Gérard had left us more than riddles to find him,” she sighs. “Though I know he meant well.”

“I think your love story is beautiful, Amélie,” Genji says with a big smile, turning about to Hanzo’s shopping bag. “Let’s see what you bought…” Hanzo watches with a horrified expression on his face how Genji takes a too-familiar flannel shirt out of the bag. “Not your style,” Genji teases, perching the garment on his forefinger while Hanzo pinches the bridge of his nose. “Second-hand, perhaps?”

“Obviously, it is not mine,” Hanzo says. “I forgot to get rid of it.”

“I can do it for you,” Genji says with a devilish grin. Hanzo rolls his eyes and stands, fetching the precious shirt with care and folding it carefully back into the bag. “What was his name? McCree…?”

“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo says his name, and it brings a smile to his face that soon disappears when he realizes their liaison is over.

“Is it the hunter who has you so moody?” Genji asks, frowning and holding back the endless jokes already plotting in his mind. Not when he reads his brother so well and is clearly distressed.

“I will tell you all about it,” Hanzo says with a sweet smile. “Just not today.” Genji gives him a peck on the cheek and a quick nod. Centuries together and this is the first time he worries about his brother’s well-being. Since they spotted McCree entering the ballroom Genji knew Hanzo would want more than a bite of him. The guy is just his cup of tea, with that good-for-nothing appearance -absolutely deceiving-, the rebellious hair, the unkempt beard. Everything Hanzo isn’t McCree doubles it. What Genji did not foresee is that his brother would be so naïve and want more when he usually keeps his distance with his lovers and everyone that is not from their circle and now he wonders how far everything went on the two days they’ve been traveling together. Because that is a tale he wants to hear.

“Genji, my dear, why don’t you go arrange our dinner?” Amélie says with an all-knowing smile at the slight pout on the brat’s lips.

“You two are so mean,” Genji protests, folding his arms over his chest and flicking his eyes from Hanzo to Amélie. There is no use in fighting them. “Fine,” he capitulates, rolling his eyes until he sees stars and leaving the two friends to share confidences while he is cast away for good.

“What happened?” Amélie pats the spot next to her while Genji ambles toward the door and Hanzo yields and sits at her side once more.

“He fell for the vampire hunter!” Genji yells and closes the door with a thump. Amélie snorts and Hanzo huffs, annoyed at not being able to keep a secret to himself for even ten minutes if his brother is in the room. His face has always been an open book to him and the brat connects the dots way too fast for his liking.

“Genji is right,” Hanzo murmurs, slumping back on the couch and glancing at the ceiling. “I wanted to fuck him, then I became greedy.” Hanzo pauses, meeting her gaze. “I wanted him to love me.”

“Mon Dieu!” Amélie says. “What are you going to do?”

“It cannot be,” Hanzo repeats to himself more than to her. “I will go back to Hanamura and I will try to forget him.”

“It can work out, you see,” Amélie says, rolling her wedding ring on her finger.

“He will forget me and have a normal life far from a soulless vampire.”

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself,” Amélie chides him. “Self-loathing doesn’t suit you, mon chéri.”

“It is too recent,” Hanzo says. “I will get over it,” he lies to himself. “Things do not always work as we would like them to, but I would rather end this now than condemn him to a life by my side, or worse, a certain death.”

“He loves you back.” Amélie smiles lovingly while Hanzo shakes his head and tries to suppress the dopey smile wanting to creep up his face at the sudden warmth in his heart. If what they shared these past nights together is love, he is certain. “And you’re lovesick,” Amélie links her arm in Hanzo’s and leans over him, providing a comfort that only a friend would in a moment like this. “But I understand you.”

“I know you do.” Hanzo tucks a strand of her long, beautiful hair behind her ear, cupping her face and finding her cheek wet from recent tears. “You will be reunited with your husband, I promise.”

“He never wanted this life, to be a vampire,” Amélie says. “And I selfishly turned him so I could keep him with me. I hope he can forgive me one day.”

“Is that what has you so unsettled?” Hanzo asks. “He married you for life, he sure had fantasized about the idea even if he did not share it with you, my dear.”

“Until death do us part,” she says with bleary eyes.

“Renew your wedding vows if that bothers you,” Hanzo teases, a smirk brightening up his face. He gets a nudge from Amélie and steals a gentle smile from her which is more than he has seen in the past weeks.

“You’re incorrigible,” she chides playfully. “I know who Genji takes after.” They chuckle, brokenhearted or not there is too much at stake to dwell on their love lives now when they have all the time in the world. “You know what I miss the most?” A mischievous smile stretches her lips as her eyes turn a beautiful rouge color. Hanzo wets his lips, knowing exactly what she will say. “Feeding on him.” She bites her lower lip and holds a moan back.

“I do not wish to feed ever again if it is not on his fearless blood,” Hanzo confesses, feeling a too-familiar tightness in his throat and an emptiness that curls his spine at what he cannot have ever again even though his deliciousness is ingrained in his memory. “It was the most delectable thing I have ever tasted.”

“You must eat, and it’ll hurt, chéri,” Amélie teases. “You’ll never forget his taste, it’ll chase you on your worst nightmares and your sweetest dreams, and you’ll crave it like a drug.” She sighs, a hand caressing her own neck. “Feeding on others won’t quite sate you either…” Hanzo chuckles, realizing Amélie is describing what she has been through these past weeks and what he will endure. Who would’ve thought loving a human would come with an insane addiction to his blood withal?

“And here I was, believing you were trying to cheer me up,” Hanzo wryly says.

Perhaps time will tell if their love is as truthful as they claimed it to be; if the gunslinger is the love of his no-life or if he will forget him except in full moon nights. Hanamura will help, his home is a timeless space where Hanzo feels safe and secured by the memories of his youth. Nothing there will remind him of Jesse, except for the permanent mark of his hands on his skin, his warm breath puffing on his neck, his sweat drenching his skin, his heart beating against the palm of his hand, the endless endearments ingrained in his mind, the honeyed drawl of his voice, and -Hanzo sighs again, utterly doomed- everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ) I know this chapter had a looot of dialogue, so I hope it wasn't too annoying or boring... Don't blame our little poor Hanzo... (੭ ˃̣̣̥ ㅂ˂̣̣̥)੭ु he's confused. Only three chapters left! ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑
> 
> I felt so inspired by a Tracey Emin quote that my dear Ilya showed me the other day that I had to add it here:  
> "Oh Christ, I just wanted you to fuck me, and then I became greedy, I wanted you to love me." (Exhibition "Love is what you want").


	7. There ain’t no fairytale

Peacekeeper still needed cleaning, maybe not an hour straight of polishing but his revolver has never looked better than today, and right on time for Gabriel’s call. McCree spent the day lying in a tousled bed, napping and forgetting about Hanzo -and failing miserably- when his boss, after some rest and a while in the office finally had an inkling about Gérard’s possible location. Amélie was right. That tiny clue allowed Reyes to find his hiding spot because only three people in the world would know: Gérard, Jack, and Reyes.

McCree strolls under the gentle sprinkle of London to an area he has never been before as instructed by Reyes. Peacekeeper waits, tightly holstered near his left side, begging for some action which, to be honest, McCree also needs. Being here with cold rosy cheeks walking under the rain gives him a new perspective where he can forget about his broken heart and focus on what he’s great at: his job. He checks again the location Reyes indicated, wrapping himself for warmth in his wool coat while he waits for his boss. In front of him, there’s a tall, grey building from the old business district, the roof getting mixed with the gloomy grey sky that soon will be fully dark. His hand brushes the side of his neck, and he naively swears he will forget Hanzo when those wounds heal.

A curse leaves his mouth when he cannot find his packet of cigarettes on him, glancing up at the building again and squinting his eyes in disbelief. It cannot be. All this time the solution was in front of him and, although there was no way he could have guessed, he recognizes the place. Suddenly, a firm hand on his shoulder brings him back to the present, and he swivels about to find Reyes behind him, hair damp and a half-smoked cigarette barely burning and hanging from his lips. “This is the place of the picture,” McCree says.

Gabriel grants him a satisfied smile as he tosses the cig on the wet sidewalks of the street. “Let’s go inside.” He climbs the few stairs to the main door and fumbles for a moment in his pocket for the key.

“You think he’s here?”

“He better be,” Gabriel says, shouldering his way into the building. McCree follows him inside, dusting his coat from the raindrops gathered on the garment. The place smells like a closed basement and seems well-kept but abandoned and empty, like a cemetery. A row of emergency lights illuminates their way into an uninviting hall. Offices with see-through doors showcase boxes and filing cabinets huddled inside every room and covered in a thin layer of dust, then the server rooms warm the place with noises and a soft background rumble.

“Is this…?” McCree mumbles, believing this place was a myth since he became an Overwatch agent officially and there was no trace or clue about it.

“Data center,” Gabriel says. “One of many, but this one is…”

“The Archives,” McCree says in awe, whistling while spinning around and taking in the many computers that hold so many secrets and intelligence. Overwatch could start a war anywhere in the world, but they preserve the peace instead. Gabriel smiles, watching McCree’s dumbfounded expression as he explores the place with eager eyes. A long hallway guarded by server computers from floor to roof ends in a landing to the next floor, and Reyes stops, turning about to look at who’s been his right-hand man this past year and his best agent for many before.

McCree has come a long way from the angry rascal that thought justice had his name on it and spared no bullets between him and his target. Not minding a few slip-ups along the way, he’s proud of him now. “Before we go upstairs,” Gabriel says, dreading to find the upper offices empty except for the cheerful and now bittersweet memories of the three of them starting something new and important. They changed the world and brought a long-lasting peace between vampires and humans, uniting them against the omnic rebellion.

“Yeah?” McCree asks at the pregnant silence with a furrow between his eyebrows.

Gabriel smiles fondly, rummaging on the inner pocket of his leather jacket for a moment before he hands McCree a master key. “Here.” A gobsmacked McCree stares at the shiny thing in his palm, not understanding what it means, but his heart thumps in his chest and he feels lightheaded. “Consider this a promotion,” Gabriel says smugly, stretching his hand at McCree who stands there, mouth agape.

“Gabe…” McCree mumbles while a grin conquers his face. “I don’t know what to say.” He takes his hand and shakes it twice before his boss pulls him closer into a half-hug.

“I trust you, Jesse,” he says. “With Gérard gone and Jack on the other side of the world you and I have kept his together for the past year. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you.” He smiles shyly. McCree wishes they could go out to celebrate if they weren’t in such a jumble and with his heart at his feet weeping for the vampire. “Does this come with a raise too?” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

“Maybe,” he snorts. “Now let’s see if we find upstairs what we came looking for,” Gabriel says, and with an intent inhale he climbs up the stairs two at a time. McCree follows close, unclipping the holster just in case he has to draw his revolver. Overwatch has key points like the Archives all over the world where they secure vital information. There is no record of these places and no way to connect them to the organization or any of the founders except for the key in their possession. He smiles inwardly, proud of himself and at how far he reached in life after being nothing more than a scoundrel without a future. His father would be proud of him too.

There’s a dim light invading the gallery, and it raises Gabriel’s hopes to find his old friend here, but the thought of an intruder also crosses his mind, and he beckons McCree to draw his revolver as he does the same with his gun. Better safe than sorry. He points two fingers at the door seeping light underneath and McCree nods, covering his flank and getting ready. Nothing in his mind but this. Gabriel kicks the door open and instantly lowers his gun when he spots a familiar face behind a crowded desk. A sudden, genuine smile bares two fangs that weren’t there the last time they saw each other.

“Gabriel,” he gasps. Gérard stands, bracing himself on a messy desk buried in paperwork, opened files, a computer throwing more light into the room, and data pads piled on each other carelessly. Everything suggests he’s been there for weeks already working on whatever mess he’s gotten into. Gabriel intends to find out what it is. McCree breaks the uncomfortable silence between them holstering Peacekeeper with a sigh of relief while Gabriel stares at his old friend with a knot between his eyebrows and surely a lump on his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs upside down. McCree can’t tell if he’s going to snap or cry, hopefully neither.

“I thought I’d rather see you dead than turned into a vampire.” Gabriel pauses, approaching the desk while Gérard rounds it, sporting a sad smile. Even as a vampire he looks exactly the same, maybe paler, but the trimmed mustache and slicked hair is the same, and he still insists on wearing those damn expensive suits. “Except I was wrong, my friend.”

“You were always a bit narrow-minded,” Gérard teases, opening his arms because Gabriel’s face snitches everything he needs to know.

“Just a ‘lil?” McCree snorts in the background.

“Don’t tempt your luck.” Gabriel chuckles, squeezing his friend and welcoming him back into the world of the living after a month believing him dead. He has been mourning and grieving his stubbornness and his mistakes at how he turned his back at him when Gérard needed him the most. He won’t make that mistake again. “You should’ve confided in me,” he mumbles into his ear, patting his back and stepping backward while Gérard reclines nonchalantly on the edge of the desk.

“I did,” Gérard says with a smirk. “You’re here.” There’s a pleasant silence filling the atmosphere before he speaks again. “How’s my wife?” Gabriel rolls his eyes, finally holstering his gun.

“She’s in London,” McCree says, but at the sudden uneasiness in the vampire’s face, he clarifies. “No one knows but us, and the Shimada brothers.” Gérard relaxes at the mention of the brothers, knowing they will keep her safe.

“She should’ve stayed home, far away from this…” Gérard mumbles. “I thought I was keeping her safe faking my death but I worry about Maximilien’s intentions.” McCree bites his tongue dreading the moment he finds out about what happened back in Annecy.

“He already knows you’re alive and wants you pushing up daisies,” McCree points out. “For real.”

They tell him everything, how Maximilien prowled around his wife like a vulture seeking a convenient marriage and turned the Château Guillard upside down. The widow had to ask for Hanzo’s help while she dealt with the omnic, and how they all ended up in London, suspecting Maximilien followed them here hoping to find him. The news falls hard on him, after being in the dark for the past weeks he realized they are in a danger greater than what he anticipated, and sadly, Gérard can’t do much on his own to stop Maximilien.

“I want to help,” Gabriel says, placing a friendly hand over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“No one will believe me!” Gérard snaps, turning around to smash the desk with both fists. “There’s time to stop it, but the vampires won’t help, I thought you’d hate me for what I am now, and…”

“Stop what?” Gabriel asks, leaning on the desk to glance at Gérard and read the frustration in his face. “Let me help you.”

“Maximilien wants war,” he finally says, trashing his head forward before he rolls his shoulders and rounds the desk to sit behind. McCree and Gabriel exchange a puzzled look before the gunslinger goes to fetch a chair from another desk. Reyes sits on the one in front of him, elbows digging on his knees. He peruses over the contents of the table: newspapers, old files, looks like Gérard has been collecting information on the omnics and the vampires while he’s been hiding here. “He is plotting an attempt of assassination against the leader of the Shambali.”

After the omnic crisis, and the shutdown of Omnica Corporation, the survivors organized themselves in a pacifist organization that, since then and until now, fights for omnic’s rights and keeps an open channel of communication between vampires and humans. They assume a vital role in the current political balance at the same time they try to find their place in the world. If Maximilien, an influential member of the organization and supposed diplomat fighting for peace succeeds, this could mean war at the same time he climbs the ladder in a convenient shortcut. A political conflict hard to resolve without shattering nineteen years of hard work.

“He wants to kill Tekhartha Mondatta?” Gabriel hisses. “That’s a secret worth killing you.”

“Omnics killing omnics ain’t our problem,” McCree says. “Maximilien would presumably be the head of the Shambali but…” Gérard interrupts McCree.

“But if a vampire kills a leader such as Mondatta the three factions would revolt in chaos,” Gérard says, reclining back on his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s been going over the facts for too long without a break and feeding only when thirst chased him. He understands Amélie better now, it is a raw need, and it takes time -which he hasn’t had-, and discipline to measure yourself. Gérard would hurt no one and, instructed by his wife, he knows where to find humans who sell their blood and how to feed without killing. It isn’t ideal, and he never wanted this, but a whole eternity at her side makes it worth it regardless the pain at becoming a vampire and losing a part of himself forever.

“What vampire would be so foolish?” McCree asks, frowning at him.

“The only one Maximilien has leverage against, and the Talon Council wouldn’t help,” Gérard says with a deep sigh. “Amélie.”

“You shouldn’t have trusted her!” Gabriel snarls. “I warned you about her and you ignored me, and now this nonsense?”

“It’s not what you think!” Gérard snarls. “She doesn’t even know. Let me explain.”

“I know exactly who she was,” Gabriel says, exhaling to ease his anger. “Your wife was Talon’s best spy, not to say their best sniper, and when she betrayed them to marry you for love -Reyes rolls his eyes- and you left Overwatch, making her mission useless, I’d say they got pissed.”

Gérard runs a hand through his hair. Nothing Gabriel said is a lie. “They won’t help me even if I’m a vampire, in fact, they’d preferred me dead,” he wryly says. “We’re outcasts and we’re alone in this.” Their love came with many sacrifices they thought they were willing to make, and even if he regrets nothing about the decisions, he made in the past, their life has taken a turn he wasn’t expecting. Holding this information in the past would have meant so much more. He had the power to act and a whole organization behind to back up his words and his actions. Gérard is nothing now of the man he once was, and it stings.

“How did you find out?” McCree asks, wondering if part of being a vampire is mourning your life as a human and what you used to be and can’t anymore. If he’s reading well enough Gérard’s face, it reminds him awfully of Hanzo.

“I intercepted the men sent to her for _negotiations_ -Gérard arches an eyebrow- I don’t think Maximilien plan was to kill me, but when the only thing between what he wanted and her was me, and he realized I knew more than I should…” If Maximilien had reached Amélie first; if the message would have gone through, their life together would’ve been menaced and Gérard has no doubt she would have done the job to save them both. It breaks his heart how close they are at losing everything they have fought for.

“Bastard,” McCree hisses. “He has a plan, and he doesn’t care who he ravages on the way.”

“And you didn’t tell her?” Gabriel asks, wondering why wouldn’t Gérard trust his wife.

“This information is like a sword of Damocles,” Gérard says. “I’m sorry, my friend.”

“They sure killed you for it.” Gabriel interlaces his hands together and rests his chin on them, listlessly staring at the crowded surface and going through all the new intelligence. First thing, he needs to contact Jack and alert the authorities through the right channels. Mondatta will give a speech in London in only a few weeks and Overwatch cannot risk a worldwide security menace such as the one Gérard suggests. “I suppose Maximilien will find a suitable replacement for Amélie.”

“Maximilien wanted to tie Amélie to him through this, but there are traitors everywhere,” Gérard says. “And he pays well.”

“What do we do now?” McCree reclines on the chair, flicking his eyes from Reyes to Gérard.

“Either we caught Maximilien red-handed or it’ll be for nothing. If we apprehended him now, his contacts would secure his release,” Gérard explains, tossing a data pad on the bundle with a deep sigh. “I can testify, but I have no proof and not a single witness. Why would they believe me?”

“You’re not alone anymore,” Gabriel says, standing with a half-smile brightening his face. “I’ll call Jack, and he’ll take care of the Shambali. The Talon Council will come into their senses when this reaches the government.” He shrugs. “They don’t want war, they may not side with you but they won’t protect Maximilien either.”

“We could contact Zenyatta,” Gérard says. He met the dignitary a few years ago, he’s Mondatta’s right-hand man and even though he would risk the omnic ignoring his warnings, he is desperate to find a solution and go back to his new life and his wife. “He’s close enough to Mondatta but won’t raise suspicions. This can’t reach the press.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Gabriel says, extending a hand to Gérard and reading the relief in his features. The vampire takes it with a half-smile and eyes glazing in red, finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. “But that sounds like a good start.”

“You’re just being nice because of that time I saved you in Cape Town, aren’t you?” Gérard teases.

“Hey, I haven’t heard that one,” McCree protests, standing and nudging Reyes on the ribs.

“Story time can wait, McCree,” Gabriel says. “Let’s bring that bastard down.”

They cannot compromise the Archives with Gérard’s presence any longer, so Reyes decides to move him to the headquarters, take an official statement of the facts, and protect him there where he’ll be safe from Maximilien and his thugs. As much as the omnic has tried to commit to his plan, since Gérard found out, he thwarted every single opportunity until now. It makes sense to McCree how angry and vexed was the omnic at the masquerade ball and why he acted out aggressively. He has nothing to lose, and his attempts to carry on with this madness have turned into a mistake after mistake road.

First thing in the morning, McCree will have to reach the headquarters, like any other day, and the lack of company and work makes his mind ramble and takes him wandering under the rain along the streets of London. He said to Reyes he was heading home, but he lied. The only thing he cares about now is Hanzo, his infuriating smirk, and the roughness of his kisses. The vampire has filled an emptiness McCree wasn’t aware he had, and now he misses him badly. Even if this mission isn’t over, even if they still need to catch Maximilien, he longs for the vampire and dreads never forgetting his touch.

McCree knows where he heads for, hoping after an hour sauntering the city he would change his mind before arriving or that, perhaps, the intent rain soaking him would infuse some sense in him, but the Alderworth Hotel sign above his head is unmistakable. He has arrived at his destination and he still hesitates. McCree has the perfect excuse to seek him out without looking like a lovesick teenager, but then he realizes it wouldn’t be safe, that it is better to keep Amélie in the dark bit longer, and that he is, indeed, a lovesick soul. Who is he trying to fool? It’d be harder to be in the same room and not being able to kiss him to his heart’s content, or worse, to face his rejection.

Trails of raindrops trickle down his face, his hair soaked, his wool coat heavy and damp. The only thing he will catch here is a cold, but McCree cannot force himself to come in or to leave. He’s there frozen in time and expecting a sign that won’t come; an omen to get in that hotel, find his room and kiss him madly, or a sign to leave it be and endure his heartache. Hanzo doesn’t want him, he made that very clear this morning and, though something deep in his heart insists they have something greater than life when they’re together, a cold shiver reaches his bones and his insecurities win the battle this time.

“Farewell, darlin’,” he mumbles, turning his back to the hotel and walking his doleful heart back home. Harsh words don’t matter anymore. McCree doesn’t care Hanzo is a vampire, he never did. He wants him by his side, in his life, and the thought of never sharing again something so wholehearted as what they shared for the past two days drives him to a road straight to despair.

He’ll be fine, that he knows. Craving his touch, longing for his kisses, dreaming of his sinful body day and night for as long as his memory allows him. McCree smiles to himself, he loved him well; how Hanzo deserved. Those dark voids that turned into two rubies as they looked at him told him everything he needed to know about Hanzo. He loved him for as long as he let him. He still does. His broken heart wouldn’t stand to push for more. If last night was all they had he will respect it and mourn what they could’ve had instead.

Just as the rain ceases McCree realizes he’s in front of his building and wants to drown his heart in alcohol. Exactly what he needs after how long he’s been walking under the rain, a hot shower to hide his tears a bit longer and then finding solace at the bottom of a bottle. Or more like at the bottom of a single whiskey because McCree isn’t so stupid to get drunk in the middle of an emergency. Last time he did that, Reyes had him a month dipped in paperwork and that is a nightmare he doesn’t want to rekindle again. So, no passing out tonight and no hangover tomorrow.

McCree slides the key inside the door of his apartment and shoulders his way in too eagerly. In the middle of his inner turmoil, he probably forgot to lock the door and the unnecessary rudeness makes him stumble directly into the darkness of his flat. He mumbles a curse. Rolling the coat off his shoulders, McCree leaves it on the kitchen counter and then does the same with Peacekeeper, taking a deep breath when he removes the body holster and stretches slightly.

A nice, hot, long shower is exactly what he needs. The streetlight seeping through the big windows offer a gloomy atmosphere that fits his mood. But everything falls to the back of his mind when he peeks through the corner of his eye a subtle movement behind the bookcase. His breath seizes, and he braces himself on the counter, sharpening his senses and slowly stretching his right arm to grip the handle of his revolver. He should’ve checked the place, be more careful, less distracted...

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A metallic, slightly smug voice says from behind him at the same time the lights turn on and blind him momentarily. He has his back turn at him, or them, but by the steps at his back, he guesses there’s more than one omnic sustaining the threat.

“Lucky me,” McCree says, gripping the handle with white-knuckle force, thumb on the hammer, forefinger on the trigger. “I ain’t you.” For a moment back there, McCree thought it could be Hanzo the one sneaking into his apartment, that the damn vampire came to see him and admit they’re good together despite all the ideas fixed on his mind about eternity, love, and pushing away all the good things to dwell on being a vampire. And one would’ve thought after four centuries he would’ve gotten used to it. McCree turns about with a wolfish grin on his face and his usual recklessness.

He counts three omnics, one on the right, one on the left and one hiding behind them. Familiar red eyes and grey metal chassis greet him. The big bug on a black suit, red tie, and matching pocket square. The gunslinger esteems his marksmanship as his best quality, and in less than half a second Peacekeeper roars angrily at the intruding party, shooting an omnic on the shoulder and disarming him effectively. But this was reckless and foolish, and a not-so-nice bullet grazes his left shoulder and spikes on the fridge behind him while another mean one bursts through his upper arm. Before the noise of the gunshots thrown at him reaches his ears, McCree feels the projectile come in and out his flesh, rippling muscle and grazing bone. How many times is he going to get shot in this life? He groans in pain, his left arm dripping a trail of blood down his arm, soaking his sleeve while increasing droplets of crimson red leak down his fingertips and puddle at his feet.

“There is no such thing as luck.” The omnic holsters the gun and fixes the knot of his tie distractedly. “I wanted to have a civilized conversation,” Maximilien says, his sharp chin moving as he speaks. When a henchman approaches him, McCree lifts his gun again at him, but the other, as though he only needed a repair, points at him with a glock right onto his head. He cannot shoot his way out of this, so he kneels slowly, resting Peacekeeper on the floor of his apartment and throwing her far from him and far from them. Immediately, his hand goes to wrap around his left arm to inspect the damage. The exit wound is a gaping mess, and it hurts like a bitch. “Now we’re under the clock.” The omnic clicks his tongue or masterfully fakes the human trait. “Stop that bleeding with a tourniquet,” he commands to his men who do as asked.

The two omnics manhandle him, stripping the fabric of his sleeve and improvising a dressing. A muffled groan leaves McCree’s lungs at the tightness of the binding above his upper arm, and yet he bites his tongue hard enough to bleed while glaring at the omnic. At least the bullet came all the way through, but he has an ongoing bleeding barely contained.

“What do ya’ want?” The spite on his words is clear-cut.

“Have you found Gérard?” Maximilien asks, and if he could smirk, he’d do it smugly.

“Who’s Gérard?” McCree says with a half-smile despite the excruciating pain roving through his body and the blood loss, blurring his vision and clenching his stomach. Maximilien nods, and a jab on his left cheek erases his wish for boasting. McCree spits on the floor, getting ready for another bravado. “Is that the best you got?”

“I know he must’ve brought me in the open by now,” Maximilien says.

“You and your games are old news,” McCree says and chuckles, regretting immediately the surge of pain. He reclines back on the kitchen counter to keep himself up-balanced. “Just be done with it.”

“There will be war, and since I don’t have to hide in the shadows any longer, I have also nothing to fear,” he drawls, ambling closer and glaring his red, robotic eyes into his own. “You were easy to find. Are you valuable enough for what I need?”

“Even if you kill me they’ll stop you,” McCree snarls, what he doesn’t say is that if Maximilien succeeds and kills Gérard, they’ll have nothing to arrest him.

“I don’t care if you live or die,” Maximilien says with a blunt metallic voice. “I want revenge.”

McCree swallows a lump on his throat. The warm shower will have to wait, and if he gets out of this, he is definitely opening that fifteen years old bourbon he’s been saving for a special occasion. If he gets the chance to taste it at all.

 

The sky is still persistently pouring rain over the city in a misty blanket. Nothing escapes the wet tears gliding down the window pane while Hanzo stares outside and into the reflection of the city lights as he’s been doing for the past hour. He’s lost in his thoughts and grooming a bad mood into something worse, as his two companions tonight can vouch for. McCree was there just moments ago, standing in the rain and oblivious to his prying eyes. It took the better of him not to come down the stairs and jump in the rain and into his arms like a needy lover. Those things only happen in sappy movies that never end well.

Opening his heart to Amélie helped, but nothing can mend the fact that he’s a vampire and he has fallen for a mortal who hunts his kind fiercely but also has settled home in his heart. It’s unnerving how restlessly he fights the urge to love him no matter what while his common sense tells him it’s a terrible idea. It’s all for nothing; dreadful, sweet, delicious feeling that he would regret. Eternal damnation is what Hanzo has to offer to the gunslinger; treasuring what will be a minute in his lifespan to regret his foolishness foreverness. He sighs again. It’s better like this, as soon as he’s in Hanamura enclosed by a place he knows by heart it’ll become easier to forget him.

“You’ve been gazing outside the window for an hour straight, anija,” Genji says, fidgeting with a coin between his fingers.

“I have all the time I want.”

“Hanzo,” Genji says, rolling his eyes until he sees stars and keeping the coin in the inner pocket of his jacket. “Just go to him.”

“No.” His bluntness is unparalleled by his stubbornness.

“He looked like a lost puppy in the rain,” Genji teases, joining Hanzo near the window. “And to be fair, you do too.”

“McCree deserves better,” Hanzo mumbles. “This won’t end up well and it’s better to stop it now.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Genji chides. “When have you not taken what you wanted?”

“Leave him alone…” Améline croons from the bed, reclined over a bundle of pillows, distracted with a book between her delicate hands as she peruses over the pages. Hanzo and Genji look at her briefly before they lock eyes and continue their conversation.

“You’ve never been like this for anyone else,” Genji whispers. “At some point I thought you were incapable of falling in love, just keeping your lovers at bay and switching them like old fashion.”

“I am not like that!” Hanzo protest childishly, but also has to concede a smirk to his brother when Genji arches a questioning eyebrow at him.

“It’s too much to ask but don’t be stubborn,” Genji winds an arm around his waist and Hanzo throws his arm over his shoulders. “I don’t want to hear again this nonsense about being a monster and never deserving love because that’s bullshit.”

“It is more complicated than that, Genji.” Hanzo squeezes him and lands a brotherly kiss on his temple, wondering how would their life had been as mortals; if they would’ve been close or if what they have is a bond that strengthened throughout centuries together, bounded by blood and a shared fate. “I cannot deprive him of a happy life. I have seen it in his eyes, Genji, I have felt a warmth in my heart I never thought possible and I know he loves me back.” It brings the sweetest smile to his lips. “He needs to forget me.”

“You make it complicated…” Genji mutters.

This morning’s kiss still burns in his lips and Hanzo aches for his touch as he craves for blood -his blood-. He could say goodbye one last time, part in good terms after McCree’s slip up that didn’t sustain the mad kiss he poured into his mouth right after; perhaps he could stop by his apartment, just one more time, ending this as seamlessly as they can. To torture himself a little longer before he takes the flight he has booked to Tokyo tomorrow night. Perhaps sinking himself again in the depths of his arms and the wonders of his lovemaking is not what they need but surely is what he wants. He’ll be gone soon. What difference would another night make? “Have you brought the car?” he asks Genji distractedly as though his brother hadn’t been reading his train of thought from his stillness to the mischievous smile stretching his lips.

“Yes.” Hanzo senses Genji’s huge grin and excitement.

“Which one?”

“The only one I drive, anija,” he teases.

“The Porsche?” Hanzo rolls his eyes, already missing his comfortable Mercedes when he’ll have to sit behind the wheel of that marvelous and also opulent monstrosity. At least it’s fast, steady, and a lovely black color, although not the most discreet vehicle. It’ll have to do for tonight.

It’s a short ride to McCree’s apartment. The silent engine of Genji’s car mingles in the busy streets as he drives the sumptuous Porsche with a smirk at how luxurious it feels. Something he will never admit to Genji. His mind rambles if this is a good idea or if he’s doomed to act weakly whenever it involves the gunslinger. Hanzo is still angered at his little brother for spurring him on with this nonsense, but part of him is flooding in rapture at the mere opportunity of sharing more moments with McCree. The windscreen wipers stop remotely as the rain ceases, and he parks the car near the entrance of McCree’s building, turning off the headlights and staring listlessly at the darkness only disturbed by the street lights.

After a few moments, he instantly regrets this imprudence. With both hands on the wheel, and ready to retrace the ride to the hotel, Hanzo mumbles a curse. This is a mistake, he knows this already. Their previous farewell hurt and this will mean an even more painful goodbye in the morning if he manages to escape his bed with the same skill he did earlier today. McCree might not even be home. He should have left tonight, his determination flakes at his treacherous heart, and his self-control goes to hell. Hanzo wants him like he’s never wanted anything in his life, more than blood, more than life itself. It seems thoughtless to even consider ruining McCree’s chance at a life for selfish reasons, but then again, isn’t that the story of his life?

Hanzo decides to go back and leave it be, incapable of bearing the suffering of his inner turmoil and dreading never leaving his side if he indulges himself in this. Wouldn’t that be a dream come true? But before he turns the engine on, the front door of the building opens abruptly. What his eyes record make his blood boil while a low growl reverberates deep down his throat. His hands grip the wheel and squeak the leather cover while he bares his fangs in a grimace of possessiveness. Two omnics drag McCree’s limp body across the sidewalk while the gunslinger trudges his way with feigned dignity, holding his left arm close to his side. He’s bleeding, and it turns his eyes crimson with need, thirst, and anger. He’s hurt, and it infuriates him to the point he wants to jump out the car and tear them apart in a fit of ire. Then Maximilien comes out of the building as they push McCree ruthlessly into the back of a blue SUV. If Hanzo attacks now, by the time he would reach the car they’d be already on the run, alerted by his presence. He has to do this carefully.

Enraged at his impotence, Hanzo watches how they join the traffic and, without giving a second thought, he starts the car and follows them at a reasonable distance. He won’t let Maximilien take McCree hostage while he does nothing. The omnic’s course of action is unpredictable after the many threats and the way he acted at the masquerade ball. The low traffic plays in his advantage as he uses the hands-free device of the car to call Genji. As the call waiting tone resounds, Hanzo restlessly plots how to get McCree out of Maximilien’s reach safely, but in short, he cannot do it on his own. Hanzo will keep him on sight as though his life depended on it because in fact, it does. They might not be together but he needs him safe and sound before he leaves. That’s the point of it all, of leaving him, of staying away: to ensure McCree lives.

“Hanzo?” Genji’s voice fills the car.

“You are going to the Overwatch headquarters now,” he says, taking a right turn where seconds ago Maximilien’s car did. “Take Amélie with you, she knows where to go.” They seem to head for the outskirts of London, and Hanzo thanks inwardly at the several cars between them and his vampire senses helping him trace the vehicle. He knows McCree is in pain, he can feel it, and he clenches his jaw.

“What happened?” Genji repeats when Hanzo, lost in his thoughts, gave no answer.

“Maximilien has kidnapped Jesse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (੭ ˃̣̣̥ ㅂ˂̣̣̥)੭ु <\-- That was me writing xD
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for all your sweet words! (/^▽^)/ You should know Chapter 8 is already finished and Chapter 9 is 5k words so far. I like to tell you this because I always worry while reading WIP fics ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)


	8. Under the gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much if you're sticking around ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ ) I really hope you like this chapter!

Gabriel paces the length of his office under the intent gaze of Gérard. “I shouldn’t have let him go by himself,” he repeats for the ninth time. As soon as they arrived at the headquarters, Gabriel got a call from a private number on his personal phone. A shudder shook his body as a bad feeling settled in his stomach while he answered and confirmed his hunch. Sometimes he wished he wasn’t right that often. Maximilien claimed to have McCree but to be willing to negotiate an exchange: his best agent for Gérard Lacroix. Gabriel is mad and angered at himself for not having anticipated the real danger of the situation. He should have protected him better, but no, he felt soft-hearted by McCree’s broken heart and yielded, leaving him alone to sulk into whatever thoughts troubled his mind and now he has imperiled him.

“Maximilien might have followed them from Annecy,” Gérard says. “It’s impossible he located McCree so fast otherwise.” Gérard follows Gabriel with his eyes as he tries to unravel the facts to find a solution. “They had to be waiting for him at his apartment, maybe followed him from somewhere else.” He sighs. “It doesn’t matter how, but we need him safe and you know there is only one thing we can do.” Gérard cocks his head, ready to jump into the lion’s den.

“I sent a discreet team to the data center but there’s nobody there,” Gabriel grunts, his priority isn’t to secure Overwatch’s intelligence but he cannot ignore the obvious threat to the organization if they have been following McCree. Fortunately for everyone, it was not the case.

“We don’t have much time,” Gérard insists, grasping Gabriel by the elbow and stopping the endless wandering before his broodiness wins the battle. They received the call half an hour ago, but time runs against them.

 _Until dawn_ , that’s what Maximilien said. They have less than six hours to agree to his terms, make the call and meet him whenever the damn omnic arranges for the hostage exchange. This is craziness, he cannot give up on Gérard when he just found him, not when he knows Maximilien only wants to kill him now that he unraveled his secret and they will stop him. “He has realized his conspiracy is over and wants you out of the picture,” Gabriel says. “It’s a trap.”

“Of course, it is.” Gérard smiles fondly.

“He has the upper hand.” They both share one of those _I know_ looks; one of the many that snitches everything they need to do because they stand on the same side, as always, which lightens Gabriel’s heart. That’s it, they will improvise and hope for the best, but none of them will leave McCree to his own luck. Gabriel takes his phone out of his pocket and hesitates for a few moments, the noise coming from the movement in the hallway nearby disturbing the seeming peace of his office.

The headquarters burst in activity since Gabriel declared the alert and mobilized Overwatch’s presence in London in advance. They know so little about the situation that this could go FUBAR in the blink of an eye. “I’ll be fine,” Gérard assures him with a too-familiar vampire arrogance. “It’s not like we haven’t done this before, besides, Maximilien has no leverage anymore.”

“That’s what worries me,” Gabriel mumbles, swallowing a lump in his throat with the phone still in hand ready to make the infamous call. “He has nothing to lose, he doesn’t need to pretend he’s one of the good guys anymore.” A pause makes his blood boil and his heart thump. He cannot lose McCree like this, for being careless underestimating a mad omnic with delusions of grandeur. “He can hurt us.”

An intent ring on the communicator of his desk interrupts Gérard’s answer, and Gabriel strides his way to the device and barks at the poor soul at the other side of the line. “What?” He grunts, pressing his fingertip on the touchpad with unnecessary rudeness.

“The diplomat Zenyatta has arrived, sir,” an agent informs him and Gabriel nods to Gérard. “Also, two vampires arrived and insist on talking to you.” The agent stutters, not knowing how will his boss react at the news. It’s not every day that a vampire dares to step into their offices since Overwatch’s main concern is taking care of those who stray.

“Who?” Gabriel meets Gérard gaze and sees a hint of hope and desire in his eyes.

“Mrs. Lacroix and a young man, vampire -he corrects himself- sir.”

“Amélie,” Gérard gasp, staring at Gabriel for a single sign that allows him to scoot out the office and find her because he knows he cannot. His presence there is top secret. To the world, he’s still dead.

“Send Mr. Zenyatta to the conference room and convey my apologies for the delay,” Gabriel says, wetting his lips and running a hand through his hair. “Escort them to my office.” He speaks looking directly at Gérard and finding a smile at the mere thought of being reunited with his wife sooner than he expected.

As he cuts the line and waits impatiently for the two visitors to arrive, Reyes decides he will inform Zenyatta as soon as he’s done with them while he watches his friend pacing along the office as he’s been doing minutes before, clearly distressed after weeks in the dark and oblivious to the dangers menacing his wife. As much as he hates that he left him in the lurch for her and is now a vampire, Gabriel squeezes his shoulder with a firm hand, stopping his wandering and granting him a reassuring smile.

A brief knock precedes the door opening, and Gérard flinches, swiveling about to find the watery eyes of his wife staring at him from behind the agent escorting them. Gabriel dismisses him and watches with prying eyes how Amélie crumbles into her husband’s arms while Gérard hides in the crook of her neck. “Mon amour,” she sobs, holding him and finally breathing out the nerves eating her alive for the past weeks. She wasn’t expecting to find him here but her heart kept her illusions up.

“Oh, my darling,” Gérard whispers into her ear, inhaling the rosy scent of his wife as though he needed it to survive. He threads his fingers into the softness of her long hair and forces her to look at him with glazed eyes. “I only wanted to protect you.” He smiles, mimicking the sweet smirk on her lips at being reunited. Gérard caresses with endless love her cheeks and the sharpness of her jaw, following her décolletage as she ghosts her hands over his now forever cold arms and clasps their hands together.

“Now I feel alive.” The sultry whisper dies in the lips of her husband.

Embarrassed by the tender-hearted reunion, Gabriel swifts his attention to the young vampire sporting a huge grin and unabashedly staring at the couple, arms folded over his chest. The vampire notices and dodges them to approach Gabriel, stretching a hand to him and losing his smile. He brings bad news. “Shimada Genji,” he introduces himself. He takes his hand in a firm grip, he may look young but his eyes tell the story of centuries. In his kind of job, he has learned to recognize when a vampire is centuries old or just a few decades. Tales of the Shimadas have reached his ears when, after his short introduction at McCree’s apartment, he came by the office and inquired into Hanzo. Tales of dragons and a peaceful place, tales of how they take care of the people of Hanamura and preserve the city fiercely from foreign enemies.

“Gabriel Reyes,” he greets him and then glimpses the couple staring at them, realizing there are more important matters at stake than themselves. “I hate to interrupt, but we have no time for feeble introductions while one of my agents is under a direct threat.”

“You already know? We’ve come to help,” Amélie says, piercing him with her big purplish eyes. Gérard squeezes her shoulder and squints his eyes, wondering what does his wife know that she risked coming directly to the Overwatch headquarters at a time like this if it was not to find him.

“Help how?” Gabriel inquires, arching a questioning eyebrow and folding his arms over his chest. He may be in good terms with Gérard but he is far from trusting Amélie, much less if McCree’s life depends on it.

“My brother went to seek Jesse McCree at his apartment and saw how Maximilien’s men kidnapped him,” Genji explains to relieve the tension in the atmosphere.

“Does Hanzo know where he is?” Gabriel’s hopes rise up the ceiling.

“Yes, he followed them to the outskirts of the city while we came here to warn you,” Genji bares a fang in a half-smile. “But we need to hurry, McCree is badly hurt and I’m afraid my brother will risk an incursion on his own before help arrives.”

“This is exactly what we needed,” Gérard says, sharing Gabriel’s excitement.

“Damn it,” Gabriel mutters. Now making that call seems easier when they can prepare in advance. Everyone needs to be ready so the second he knows where to meet with the omnic, Overwatch can assure his imprisonment. “With a man informing us of his movements we may succeed.” Gabriel fidgets with the phone in hand. “What Maximilien wants is a hostage exchange, my man for Gérard, but now we…”

“Je ne vais plus te lâcher!” Amélie yelps, glaring at Gérard.

“Chérie,” Gérard tries to soothe her wife and her worries of losing him again so soon. “I know I promised to you this life would be over, but this is who I am and I won’t leave a friend behind when It’s my fault.” Amélie bites her tongue, remembering her vows, the promises they made to each other. Now is the moment to honor their marriage and let his husband be the man she married, the man he truly is. The past year brought endless rapture into their lives, but the shadow of what Gérard missed badly crept on his mood more often than not. He loved his job, the danger, and even though he sacrificed everything to be with her, it wouldn’t be fair to keep denying him of the work of his life.

“And I love you regardless,” she says while a sad smile stretches her lips. Gérard said those words to her a long time ago. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. Gabriel’s roll of eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“We’re going to need to contact Hanzo,” Gérard says, clearing his throat.

“Gather all the intelligence we can about the place, roads, get the team look over it as soon as possible while I meet with Mr. Zenyatta,” Gabriel says and Gérard nods. It’s like old times, but not at all. “I’ll call Maximilien, ask him where and when.”

“Who has the upper hand now?” Gérard says with a smug smile on his lips.

“We do, because we’re playing by my rules.”

It’s still the hardest call Gabriel has ever made in his life, fearing for McCree’s life even more now they know he’s badly hurt. Talking to Hanzo is easier, the vampire cooperates and has committed himself under his command without a single complaint, which hints he cares about Jesse. That’s something Gabriel respects; he’s oblivious at what transpired between McCree and Hanzo these past days, but the interest and fierceness the vampire shows in this situation are proof enough that he holds feelings for him. Deep down, Gabriel hopes it ends up in nothing because he’s had enough losing Gérard, and he only cares about the intelligence Hanzo can provide, spying on Maximilien and keeping his presence updated for any possible trap.

Zenyatta’s meeting was shorter than expected. The omnic, with endless tranquility, revealed they had disturbing information concerning Maximilien for quite a while, but no way to strip him powerless or take matters into his own hands without losing the element of surprise. At the slightest sign of trouble, Maximilien would hide and pause his conspiracies until the appropriate time or opportunity arises again.  The diplomat is another unexpected ally. That’s what Gabriel thought as he listened to the omnic and shared the vital information that Gérard provided. The omnic stood silent for a few moments, which seemed like an eternity, but insisted on accompanying them along this rescue mission to make sure Maximilien is brought into justice as he deserves. The keenness in his words determined Gabriel to accept his help and welcome him to the team, perhaps for longer than they imagine if this turns out well for both factions.

This a weight lifted from Gabriel’s shoulders since he had no real jurisdiction to retain Maximilien, but Zenyatta can secure his imprisonment and vouch for the facts happening tonight as the solid proof of his intrigues. Maybe they won’t be able to arrest him for plotting an attempt of assassination on Mondatta, but he will pay for this fair and square. A direct threat to Overwatch will cost him greatly if Gabriel doesn’t put between his two glaring, red eyes the bullet he has with his name on it.

Gabriel uselessly wraps himself in his leather jacket and zips it up to prevent the cold night of London to steal his breath away. Gérard is by his side, impassible at the frisky breeze. He snorts, his hands shaking as he tries to light a smoke while they wait for the car. Given the circumstances, they chose a model that seems a regular SUV but in reality is a bulletproof vehicle, specifically designed for these situations.

“Nervous?”

“I’m freezing my ass,” Gabriel mutters, exhaling a long puff of smoke along with his breath.

“At least it’s not raining,” Gérard teases. “I missed this, working with you, and the kid better gets out of there without a scratch because I’ve missed him too.”

“He’s still a pain in the ass,” Gabriel chuckles but soon loses his smile. “We’re gonna get him back.” The vampire squeezes his shoulder while he takes another long drag at his smoke. He remembers the last time they saw each other. It was a night as cold as this one and he was blinded by anger at losing his friend for an enemy spy that had been in his life for less than a month. Gabriel felt like he meant nothing to him. He had just broken up with Jackie, his life and the world around him was crumbling around his feet and he was helpless and powerless. “I’m sorry I reacted how I did.” He thought the apology would sting, but it doesn’t, it warms his heart, letting go of the grudges holding him back the past year.

“I left you alone when you needed me,” Gérard says. “I’m sorry too.” He had wanted to stay, but Amélie was -and is- his life. Gabriel would have never accepted her around Overwatch, much less if he was still one of the leaders. They made their choices and put at risk their friendship, but life takes a lot of turns and here they are, Gérard is a vampire and Gabriel has accepted him back, even if it’s just for tonight. This is what he needed, to feel like himself once more even if his life has changed drastically, but at least he’s alive.

“You should come back,” Gabriel mumbles, tossing the cig on the ground and glancing at him with a half-smile. “If you want to -he chuckles softly- if your wife lets you…”

“Of course, I would,” Amélie says smugly from behind, interrupting the conversation very timely while an agent parks the car near them and gets out, handing the keys to Gabriel and wishing him luck. When he turns around, Gérard is kissing Amélie as she whispers something in French, and he rolls his eyes for the ninth time since she arrived, actually missing Jackie, his kisses, and the sappy goodbyes before parting for a mission.

Gabriel gets inside the car and waits until Gérard rounds it and takes a seat at his left. It’s really like old times. Maximilien told them to meet exactly where Hanzo chased them, which could mean two things: they have settled a trap there and they’re screwed or McCree is too weak to be moved far from the place they hold him prisoner. The second choice is disturbing and Gabriel pushes the possibility to the back of his mind. They have the tactical advantage and numerical superiority; several teams cover the side roads and exits in case Maximilien wants to escape. The SWAT teams are ready to answer their call in less than a minute distance and the teams will be deployed long before they arrive for the exchange. Everything while, Maximilien, is oblivious to it all, blinded by his desire for revenge.

They’re risking too much and the only thing Gabriel wants at the end of this damn night is Jesse safe and sound. The rest can wait for another day. He starts the car, squeezing the wheel with both hands. Maximilien’s conditions are simple enough: Gabriel must hand Gérard on his own, in a car, no weapons, and no backup. According to him, he’ll be alone with two men and McCree, but Gabriel doubts that is the case. He guesses they’re both cheating. Zenyatta will be there, with two more agents to secure his welfare, although the omnic chuckled faintly at the suggestion, assuring his expertise in battle is enough to protect himself. The omnic wants to arrest Maximilien personally.

Genji and Amélie watch the black car disappear into the darkness of the streets. They will have to wait in the headquarters until they come back, even though she offered her help and wanted to cover her husband, Gabriel refused. “Aren’t you worried about Hanzo?” she asks and Genji chuckles.

“My brother can take care of himself,” Genji says. “You haven’t seen Hanzo in the midst of battle, but I wouldn’t cross him. He’s a sight to behold and a dangerous enemy to fear.” He glances up at the starry sky, barely visible by dark clouds and the city lights, but he knows they’re there up in the night sky looking back at him. “The only thing I worry about is that he will do anything to ensure McCree’s safety -he pauses and meets Amélie’s gaze- above his own.”

“L'amour fou, chéri,” Amélie sighs. “Never fall in love.”

 

McCree wakes up shivering and with a dry throat, hunched over himself in the cold concrete floor of a darkened room. The last thing he remembers is the car and two omnics dragging him outside in what seemed like an industrial park. The slightest movement as he tries to straighten, trying to recognize the place, sends a surge of pain through his whole body. “Goddamnit,” he curses, groaning and leaning back on the wall. Risking loosening the tourniquet for a few moments, McCree unties the fabric. The blood flows, tingling his flesh and intensifying the pain as though a thousand needles pierced his skin. He waits a few moments until he feels the wound bleeding again and attempts a subtle wiggle up his fingers. When he gathers the courage to tie the thing back again into his arm, he clenches his teeth along one side while he pulls at the other with his right hand. A firm tug tightens the binding again and McCree groans in pain, cutting the blood flow once more.

He can only guess what Maximilien wants to do with him, and he wishes Reyes doesn’t fall for it and keeps Gérard safe. A half-smile pulls the corner of his mouth upward while he trashes his head until it hits the wall at his back. Reyes is coming for him because in Overwatch they leave no one behind. If he’ll be alive by the time they do, that’s another whole story. He has lost too much blood and keeping himself conscious takes a great effort, the tourniquet trick would work once more with luck. Otherwise, he can say farewell to his left arm.

McCree has no time to dwell on the pain and the shitty situation he is into because two omnics armed and far from friendly enter the room and pull him up by his good arm. If he were in good shape, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Staying conscious was a challenge, trying to stay upright with a dizzy head and wobbly legs that don’t want to answer your brain is a living nightmare. “Where are you taking me?” McCree snarls, stumbling all his way outside the building. Either he’s dead meat or something is happening, not that anyone is giving him a debriefing of the situation.

The cold breeze of the night reaches his bones and steals the little warmth in him when it unmercifully hits him. There’s not a single soul around the streets except for the two omnics and Maximilien waiting near a vehicle in the middle of an open parking area. Surrounded by industrial units, McCree recognizes the place, they’re not far from London. He slips on the damp ground but the omnic keeps him upright grasping him bruisingly from his right arm. As far as he can tell, it’s a hostage exchange, and he mumbles a curse under his nose. This is his fault.

“Goodnight,” Maximilien says as he approaches. “Glad to see you awake, no one wants damaged goods.”

“You should’ve thought that before you shoot me,” McCree mutters, a cold sweat running down his spine while he tries not to shiver. He can’t feel his arm, hanging slack at his side. “What’s your master plan?”

Maximilien chuckles, fixing his eyes on him. “You humans are so narrow-minded,” he says.

“And you’re the bettermost, I guess.” McCree stares listlessly as far as his sight allows him, wondering why would Maximilien choose a place so in the open that would leave him in a vulnerable position. Probably because he has the advantage, choosing the place and convening them here. McCree inspects the buildings nearby, not a single movement or sign that Maximilien has more men around. He’s rushing his revenge, craving retaliation and confiding too much in his supposed advantage. Maximilien is being careless, underestimating Reyes. This could play in his favor. McCree knows how Reyes works and if they’re coming for him, they have a plan.

“Any last wishes?” Maximilien says smugly while McCree turns about to look at him. If he wanted to see the fear in his eyes, he’ll find nothing more than rage. Death never scared him, not ever, not tonight.

“You don’t usually kill your leverage, ya’ know?” McCree teases with a smirk despite the pain and the cold invading his body. “But I’d love a smoke.”

“I’m afraid that’s a wish I can’t grant you.” Maximilien chuckles, but he stops the useless banter as soon as an engine resounds in the distance and the headlights of a car show up at the far end of the street. The two omnics draw their weapons and suddenly release him. McCree fights to stand firmly on his own legs while the two thugs bracket him and Maximilien positions safely at his back. He feels the barrel of a gun pointing demandingly between his shoulder blades and exhales a deep breath, trying to distance himself from the excruciating pain in his arm. “Now that you asked.” Maximilien leans forward to whisper into his ear, unable to help himself at the imminent victory. “I’m planning on getting a two for one tonight.”

McCree clenches his jaw and grits his teeth. “You’ll get what’s coming to you,” he mutters. He sees Gabriel at the wheel as he steers the car around. Gérard is with him and McCree swallows a lump in his throat. If he had been more careful and less distracted, he wouldn’t have been caught. He looks up at the clouded sky and sighs, closing his eyes as the vivid image of Hanzo appears in his mind, soothing the pain and the nerves as a balm to the soul, except the vampire probably is far away from London by now and he won’t see him again.

Gérard and Gabriel get out of the car at the same time, inspecting briefly the surroundings before they leave the safety of their cover and face Maximilien. Thanks to Hanzo they know in advance how the enemy is positioned, and lucky for them, the omnic has rushed his revenge and is short on reinforcements. Overwatch has located two small teams of omnics nearby and won’t let them leave their hiding even if Maximilien gives the order. The team is blocking the roads and any possible route of escape is under surveillance. Everything plays in their favor except the omnic pointing his gun at Jesse and threatening the life of his agent.

“We’re here,” Gabriel yells. “As you wanted. Can I have my man back now before things get ugly?” He and Gérard stand side by side a few feet from them, and Gabriel stares at McCree with a furrow between his eyebrows and a stomach clenched in fear. He’s so pale and livid it scares him how long they have before… he interrupts himself, fueling his rage Maximilien.

“Gérard first,” Maximilien says. Gabriel nods at Gérard who takes a few steps forward until he reaches a middle ground between the two parties. They’re completely exposed and unarmed, but he trusts the teams taking care of them in the distance and ready to intervene at the first bullet. “You messed with me, Gérard,” Maximilien says, his metallic voice tainted with anger.

“Are you okay, McCree?” Gérard asks, ignoring the omnic who points now at the back of his head to grab the vampire’s attention. A low growl leaves his throat in response.

“I’ve been better, thanks for asking,” McCree teases, his smile vanishing too soon. He’s exhausted, heavy lids fight to close his eyes and his legs stand miraculously on his own.

“Lovely reunion, but you know why you’re here,” Maximilien says. “I will carry on with my plans. This world belongs to us and not your breed -he points at Gérard with his free hand- nor the humans -he points at Gabriel-.” His emotionless features don’t match the high pitch of his words.

“You’re mad,” Gérard says. “You want to kill your own leader for what? Power?”

“We’re so much more than slaves!” Maximilien cries out. “More than servitude. We deserve to rule this world, we are timeless.”

“Your components decay, your batteries die, we all die one way or another.”

“The only reason the humans live if because they’re food for your kind.”

“The omnics deserve the same rights, nothing more,” Gérard argues, and it seems pointless.

“You ruined my plans, but I will have my revenge,” Maximilien says, shooting once at the air as a signal while he patiently waits. An evil laugh resounds in the atmosphere as the raging shot echoes and disperses into the night. The seconds pass and nothing happens, and Maximilien hides behind McCree while he points at Gérard. Maximilien, confused, looks right and left, not finding the teams that should have come to his aid. “Now! What are you waiting for?” He voices out, wondering why the sniper hasn’t taken Gérard to the ground when he has a clear shot.

A raging gunshot cracks loud and disturbs the silence of the night. A certain sniper shot. The bullet crosses the air, leaving an imperceptible trail of dust particles before it goes cleanly through the head of the omnic at his right, shattering metal and the core of his mind. The machine falls lifeless with a thump at McCree’s feet. “Shit,” McCree curses, glancing at Gabriel and watching, dumbfounded, how his boss inspects the area. That wasn’t an Overwatch’s sniper and clearly not one of his thugs.

“Stop or he dies!” Maximilien shouts, pointing at McCree’s back once more. “Gérard, come here!” The vampire hesitates, taking two steps forward to appease the omnic, fearing for McCree’s life.

At first, Gabriel sees nothing at all, but then a shadow moves at the far end of the street carrying a sniper rifle in one hand as though it weighed nothing. The figure walks decisively in the darkness and the misty night until a streetlight throws some shapes into him. Hanzo walks toward them, eyes glaring in red, his mouth a thin line that tells the tales of anger Gabriel knows all too well by now. He’s never been happier to see a vampire. The backup troops have been mobilized at the first gunshot, they’ll be there soon, but first, he needs McCree safe, and he’s far from safe with a menacing gun threatening to steal the life out of him.

“What did you do with my sniper?” Maximilien asks when Hanzo approaches the meeting and throws the sniper rifle at his feet with disdain.

“I do not think they will be shooting anytime soon.” A sudden smirk flashes through his lips, his eyes fixed on Maximilien, gauging every single movement for any sign that hints the omnic intends to shoot McCree. If he’ll be fast enough to stop him is a question he cannot afford to ask to himself now.

“Just give up!” Gabriel says, maintaining his position. A deep growl grows possessively in Hanzo’s throat at McCree’s state and he takes another step forward, closing the distance to jump onto the omnic. “You’re outnumbered,” he says.

“And dead,” Hanzo groans, his body tense, his stomach curled in fear.

“Wait!” Gérard says, anticipating Hanzo’s imminent attack.

“Get in the car,” Maximilien says to the omnic at his left. The noise of a helicopter in the distance infuriates him. This has gone awfully wrong, but he will sulk on his failure later. “I won’t get what I want, but you won’t either.”

“No!” Hanzo growls, baring two sharp, menacing fangs as he runs toward Jesse, expecting the ruthless shot. Maximilien fumbles with a hand behind him to open the door of the car while his right pulls the trigger and shoots McCree point-blank on his back. He gets in the vehicle fast and it skids on the ground before the door is closed, fleeing from there and leaving a severely wounded McCree stumbling his way toward Hanzo.

The gunslinger falls to his knees with a cry of pain as soon as Hanzo reaches him. The vampire drops to his knees before him, holding him close, his chest heaving with emotion and air he doesn’t need. McCree’s forehead rests on his shoulder while Hanzo threads his cold fingers on his hair, uselessly soothing him from the pain he must be in. He wished he could take it all away. With the other hand, Hanzo inspects the wound, the bullet is still inside and his left arm is an alarming grey color and hangs limply from his torso. And yet his gunslinger is awake and breathes with difficulty against his cold neck, grazing his lips over his skin. “You come here often, darlin’?” he mumbles, stealing a treacherous half-smile from Hanzo even though his heart is shrinking in despair.

“I was nearby and saw you were in a bit of a trouble,” Hanzo says, cupping his face and tilting his head up so he can look into his eyes. He’s barely there, and he aches to keep him awake as the selfish soul he is. A thin sprinkle conquers the sky.

“Help is on his way,” Gabriel says. “One-minute tops.” He warned the reinforcements, informing Maximilien is running away south-west. He won’t go far though, they will intercept him and arrest him. Gabriel gave the order to take down the car because one thing he knows: Maximilien won’t escape. It clenches his stomach to see McCree barely alive on the ground clinging to Hanzo.

“He is losing too much blood,” Hanzo says, meeting his gaze and sharing his concern. “The bullet is still inside but the damage, and his arm…” He swallows, avoiding the questions he cannot answer and focusing on what he can sense. “His heart beats strongly.”

“Beats for you,” McCree says, and a coughing fit sends him to a new level of hell regarding pain. “I’m on my last legs, darlin’.”

“You are far from your deathbed, my love,” Hanzo lies, burying his face on the crook of his neck to feel the pulse of life slowly fading away while the noise of more vehicles and ongoing conversations gets to him faintly. McCree cannot die in his arms, he will stay with him for as long as it takes but he _cannot_ die in his arms.

“He’s going your direction,” Gérard snarls through the comms. “Get him, dead or alive, I don’t care anymore!”

“Alive, I would prefer,” Zenyatta says behind them with a calmness that contrast with the promptness of the situation. “I might be able to help your wounded agent.”

Hanzo looks at the omnic in disbelief. “He is in pain,” he says, narrowing his eyes and measuring the words. “If you hurt him, I will rip you apart myself.” The threat comes out as truthful as daylight when he has the love of his life withering in his arms. McCree is the one he was meant to find. All his life seems to have pushed him here, to this moment with him and to an eternity without him.

“You are your own worst enemy,” Zenyatta says, kneeling beside them and pressing a hand on McCree’s forehead. “Experience nothingness.”

A bright, dazzling light blinds McCree, vanishing Hanzo’s ravishing beauty from his sight as he closes his eyes, unable to get rid of the persistent light invading him from the inside out. And then, there is no more pain, nothing to see but a blinding luminescence, his body droopy but far from lifeless. The only feeling keeping him there, in a state between asleep and awake, is the deep love that warms his heart and fills his mind as he drifts into unconsciousness, fighting to stay longer with Hanzo but surrendering to the peaceful sensation invading him. Then he feels his arms around him, his lips on his own, his coldness mingling with his body heat. No more coldness, no more hopelessness. There is only Hanzo, only love, only them translated into a law of the universe.

 

Gabriel always hated hospitals, the clinging smell of disinfectant invading his nostrils, the constant racket, imminent death and sickness surrounding him. And with all, he hasn’t left the side of his bed since they hospitalized McCree two days ago except to pick Jack up from the airport. He’s glad he came not only to help with his unique political aptitudes opening a channel of communication between omnics and vampires but because Gabriel needs time for another chance at getting back together. As soon as the damn kid wakes up.

 Turning the pages of his newspaper and verifying how Overwatch still kept secret the whole mess without a single leak to the press -for now-, Gabriel takes a deep breath, listening to McCree’s steady heartbeat on the monitor and his heaving chest moving in unison with his breath. Whenever he remembers how close of losing him they were his heart shrinks and his throat tightens. He never had kids, Jack wanted them, he didn’t care, but Jesse is the closest he has to a son and he would never get over losing him. He closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose, suppressing the treacherous tears wanting to burst out of him unannounced, but a low grunt and a needy complaint bring up a smile to his lips.

“I feel like crap,” a raspy, heavenly voice grunts. Jesse wakes up heartbroken, the lingering sensation of peace and love he felt fades as the pain of reality hits him hard body and mind. He glimpses Reyes folding the newspaper away and leaning on his forearms on the bed with a grin that reveals how glad he is to see him awake.

“Are you planning on getting shot often?” Gabriel teases. “Because I have a pile of paperwork on my desk and I can’t be losing time in hospitals.” McCree attempts a chuckle as a jolt of pain flashes through his left shoulder and arm, several tight bandages limiting the movement on his chest and upper body. “You almost lose your left arm,” he says.

“How long have I been out?” McCree asks, sipping from the straw Gabriel offers and wetting his sore throat.

“Two days.”

“Did we get him?” McCree asks when he really wants to ask where is Hanzo and what was he doing there with him. He barely remembers seeing him and falling into his arms, then the light.

“We did,” Gabriel says with a smirk. “He’s in prison.” He can give later the details to McCree, how Zenyatta testified and held Maximilien, dropping more evidence against him than just the kidnapping and attempt on assassination on McCree and Gérard. The omnic won’t be seeing the daylight anytime soon, imprisoned without bail. The trial will take place in a few months, and the Shambali will carry on with a full-on prosecution against Maximilien and his allies, wanting to strengthen their strings with humans and vampires at the same time they eradicate corruption in their lines. “Maximilien won’t get out of this,” Gabriel assures McCree. “But he had more allies than we expected, and this is far from over.”

“The world needs us now more than ever?” McCree teases with a half-smile.

“We’re working on it, Jackie recommended a recruit,” Gabriel explains but McCree interrupts him.

“So, he’s Jackie again?” McCree teases with a smug smile and steals a chuckle from his boss.

“Well if you let me finish,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “He recommended Lena Oxton, a pilot from our flight program, she wants to become a field agent because an injury doesn’t let her fly anymore.”

“Sounds good,” McCree says. “Want me to train her?”

“That’s the idea.” Gabriel smiles even though he knows what’s on Jesse’s mind and why he sounds disappointed instead of excited at having a new partner in crime. “We need more agents, and we need a new faction to work along with the vampires.”

“You sure about that?” McCree arches a questioning eyebrow.

“How does Blackwatch sound to you?” Gabriel says. “It was Gérard’s idea.” A division of vampires working along with Overwatch is overambitious but seems perfect at the same time. They cannot keep pretending they don’t live in the same world or by different rules because they don’t.

“Damn it,” McCree clicks his tongue. “I’m unconscious for a couple of days and you guys change the world without me.” He chuckles, brushing the back of his neck with his right arm and attempting to straighten on the bed to sit. “It was ‘bout time.”

“Never without you, Jesse,” Gabriel says, squeezing his forearm. “Let’s say we’ll have to work closely to coordinate both teams.”

“As soon as I’m out of this damn bed,” McCree complains, swallowing a lump on his throat at the question burning at the back of his mind.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Gabriel loses the smile for a moment, looking intently into McCree’s eyes and rummaging in the inner pocket of his jacket until he ghosts his fingers over the paper envelope. “He left this for you,” Gabriel says, taking it out and leaving it on the bedside table as though it was a bomb and not a letter.

“Hanzo?” The hope sprinkling his name is obvious, as much as the racing pulse beeping on the monitor and risking a visit from the nurse. McCree curses under his nose when Gabriel smiles smugly.

“He left as soon as you were safe and cared for,” Gabriel says. “When you get discharged, I’ll tell you why he was there and how he helped us save you, because of that I promised him I would deliver this in person.” Gabriel sighs. “But now you need to rest.” He stands, knowing McCree urges opening the letter but won’t do it while he sticks around. “I’ll come later to see you, okay?”

McCree nods, unable to produce any word and watching how Gabriel leaves and closes the door behind him. His eyes flick to the piece of paper next to him, and he stretches his trembling hand to pick it up. He curses at his restless mind when he already knows what it says. That it cannot be, that Hanzo left, and it’s for the best, that he will never be good enough. He trashes his head back into the pillow, squeezing his eyes together to fight back the tears.

Better get it done with, he wonders, opening the envelope single-handed and taking out a piece of paper that he doesn’t know yet, but will accompany him many years to come. A sad smile conquers his lips when he reads the words, confirming his stubborn vampire won’t be an easy catch, but he’s a renowned vampire hunter in Overwatch, and he’s always up for a challenge. He reads the words on a loop as the tears trickle down his cheeks and wet his messy beard, his eyes bleary and his vision blurred. It doesn’t matter, he already knows them by heart. There is only one life, long or short, but only one to live it as you wish and not yield to the obstacles in your way. Fight for what you love. That is a lesson McCree learned soon in life and his number one rule.

“Eternally yours, Hanzo,” he reads with a wolfish grin. “Of course, you’re mine, darlin’.” He cleans his cheeks with the back of his hand, his gaze lost in the handwritten words. “This story ain’t over yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust the cowboy, this story ain't over yet. I promise fluff and smut ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡ The final chapter will be up Friday or Saturday! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> If you're curious about Hanzo's note ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)  
> "Find the strength to forget me because I am afraid I will not, gunslinger.  
> Eternally yours, Hanzo"


	9. Swing it, darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just leave here this sappy Epilogue for you to read (๑╹ڡ╹)╭ ～ ♡

A blazing hot sun accompanies McCree on this unusual trip. It should be freezing cold, but he’s out of breath and has been walking for an hour straight with his belongings at his back and his heart in his hands. McCree stops and takes a lungful of the cold winter air, rubbing away the cold sweat on his neck. There is not a trace of the marks that once marred his skin. He wears them on the inside, as the permanent reminder of the love he found and lost, and how he fights the odds to win back who is rightfully his.

It’s been a hard year. McCree smiles inwardly at how much they have achieved while he takes off the scarf hanging from his neck and pushes it on top of the backpack, tempted to get rid of his coat too but scared to freeze to death when his skin is drenched in sweat. Blackwatch, the vampire division, is a complete success. Gérard and Gabriel teamed up together once more and the results are even more amazing than what they achieved in Overwatch. The two organizations work hand in hand along with the Shambali and the Talon Council, not only they thwarted Maximilien’s plot against the world peace but instead secured open channels for worldwide diplomacy. It’s far from perfect, there are people trying to kindle the flame of war, but McCree cannot help but feel proud at what they have accomplished.

McCree takes a long gulp at a water bottle, taking out of his inner pocket a familiar piece of paper that has given him the strength to persist on his conquest. As much as he tried to find Hanzo, there was no way to reach him by phone, so whenever he had time, he would visit a new city, follow a new lead, or try to contact him again to no avail. The vampire changed places too often and seemed to have vanished from the earth. But no matter what he found or how many tears he shed at the bottom of a bottle on lonely nights, Hanzo’s words kept the flame alive nevertheless. As though he could forget the taste of his lips or the shape of his body when Hanzo conquers his mind at day and occupies every dream and every nightmare. Hanzo’s words were meant to give him peace, closure, to offer him a chance he doesn’t want to take and never will.

As McCree resumes his walk, he remembers Gabriel and Jack’s wedding and how easy was to be Reyes’ wingman and watch the nerves eat him alive minutes before the big yes. Unlike him, his boss helped him trace Hanzo when he was so broken-hearted nothing cheered him up, they’ve come a long way until today. He’s so close to his destination that stopping now would be foolish when his heart races more for what he might find than for the steep slope. His wandering took him to Annecy a month ago, accepting an invitation you couldn’t deny for a masquerade ball. Sharing the trip with the two newlyweds was a nightmare, but he felt happy for them at the same time he longed to find Hanzo at the Château Guillard. Unfortunately, there was no trace of the vampire there either, and not even Amélie knew where he was those days.

They enjoyed the celebration more than ever, and not even the high hopes at seeing Genji arriving fashionably late and confirming his brother wouldn’t attend, sullied the festivities. Jack and Gabriel radiated happiness, same as Gérard and Amélie, and it filled McCree with longing for the love he grazed and escaped from him way too soon. Deep in his heart, McCree was devastated, believing this would be his final chance to hunt his prey, but when he was about to escape the celebration, Genji came closer and spend the night with him as though they were old friends even if they barely knew each other. After a timely toast from Amélie to life and to death, McCree gathered enough courage to inquire about Hanzo.

“I’ve been looking for your brother, but he’s hard to find,” McCree said.

“Hanzo tends to do that when he’s feeling dramatic,” Genji replied with a smug smile. “Did you know Hanamura is beautiful this time of year?”

And indeed, Hanamura is a sight to behold in the midst of winter and spring thanks to an unusually warm winter that selfishly decided to crash with a sudden snowfall. “High atop a hill, he wasn’t lying,” McCree says to himself when the wooden structure of Hanamura’s entrance greet him. The seal of the Shimada family and the twirling dragons remind him what he’s hunting. McCree crosses the threshold, spinning around and taking in the magnificent beauty of the place, recovering his breath while the noises of a distant creek and the breeze swathe his way inside the property. He attracts people’s attention easily, and he tips his hat politely and makes more than one lady blush on his way to the castle. He hasn’t changed much, his hair is long enough to wear a short ponytail, his Stetson accompanies him whenever it’s appropriate, and Hanzo is so close to his heart it doesn’t hurt anymore.

When McCree glimpses the opulent entrance of the building, he exhales, mouth agape, realizing the kind of royalty Hanzo comes from and feeling suddenly tiny in a world where he doesn’t belong. A glance to the right grasps his attention, and he leaves his backpack and hat unattended on a nearby rock while he ventures himself inside a cherry blossoms orchard. Snowflakes mix with cherry blossoms in an early blooming disturbed by the gentle snow that poured over Hanamura the last night.

A wolfish grin conquers his face, ambling between the trees, lost in their beauty. Sun, snow, and cherry blossoms welcome him to his last chance at happiness. “You found my home, gunslinger,” a familiar voice says behind him and seizes his breath. Stealthy as ever. McCree swivels about, a grin on his face and a quip ready on his lips, but the words drift off his mind as soon as he lays eyes on Hanzo’s ravishing beauty. He swears for a second, he has forgotten his own name, his heart at his feet, frozen in an instant.

The vampire wears an indigo blue kimono with long sleeves that cover his hands except for his fingertips and drapes long down his shape to get mixed with the snow covering the stony lane. His hair falls loose at both sides of his beautiful face, sharp as ever, a withheld smile curling the corners of his mouth upward. “I was gonna say you look even more gorgeous, but you already know,” McCree says, taking a step toward him. Hanzo chuckles, unable to fight the smile any longer. “God, have I missed your laugh, darlin’.”

“What are you doing here?” Hanzo says with a supercilious curl of the lips, approaching him like a wolf prowling his prey when it just entered his domains.

“It took me too long to find you,” McCree says, closing the remaining distance between them and ghosting his fingers over Hanzo’s cheek as though he was an illusion about to disappear. The vampire closes his dark eyes and opens them in a bedazzling ruby red that makes his heart race faster. “I’m not losing you again.” The determination in his words matches the one on his gaze and it curls Hanzo’s stomach nice and warm.

“I wanted you to live, to grow old,” Hanzo says, glancing up at the gunslinger, defeated by his presence after enduring the hardest year in several centuries. “Sacrifice your life after two days with me did not seem fair, you were supposed to forget me…” He grasps his wrist, keeping his hand close to his cheek, relishing in his warmth, the callous palm of a killer, the gentle touch of a lover. He lost a part of himself the day he left him believing it was in his best interest, but his gunslinger didn’t give up on him.

“That ain’t happening,” McCree drawls. “You came back and saved me, darlin’, and now I’m saving you.” McCree cups his face at the same time he links his lean waist with an arm and presses their bodies together. A low grunt rumbles from his throat at having him at his reach. He’s entitled to, and he will never be ashamed of it. They fit like they always have, lost lovers reunited against fate.

“From what?” Hanzo smirks with glittery eyes, standing on his tiptoes to feel McCree’s ragged breath puffing on his parted mouth. He is glad he cannot sleep or dream because he could swear this isn’t happening. That this magical instant is in his mind and McCree will disappear into thin air if he takes his eyes off of him. His heart beats so strongly it tightens his throat, craving for his blood with a vigor that scares him to the core. Hanzo could drain him in an instant if his love for him wasn’t stronger than his thirst.

“From yourself,” McCree whispers, his grin vanishing as he pulls him onward and presses their lips together in the most tender-hearted kiss he has ever given. The gunslinger feathers his lips over his own, warming them, menacing to steal his reason and judgment if he doesn’t take them by force soon. McCree does, clashing tongues, angry lips. A moan and a groan mix with a low purr reverberating in Hanzo’s throat. The vampire yields in the softest cry, parting his mouth and tasting the intruding tongue healing the wounds of the love he thought himself undeserving of but pursued him to his very home. He won’t run away from him ever again. He won’t have the will.

“Jesse,” he gasps when the gunslinger backs off to take a sharp intake of air, one he steals with another kiss, mingling their lips, their souls, and their lives in a single instant. He tastes of love, of sweet blood, and the most awaited victory. McCree glides his tongue over his velvety lips, parting them like a dutiful lover, entitled to take, and love, and ravish his vampire for as long as he pleases.

“You’re mine,” McCree says, a wolfish grin coming back while he wraps both hands around Hanzo, hunching over him and lifting him, spinning them around until the long locks of onyx sea tickle his face and neck. He gently puts him down to the ground, peppering kisses along his lips and jaw as though it was his duty in life to worship them. “A lifetime ain’t gonna be enough for me, darlin’.”

“You, madman,” Hanzo chuckles, winding both arms around his neck, feeling the cold sweat getting dry as the winter breeze bristles all the little hairs at his nape. He smiles at the low ponytail behind his neck, stroking his thick, brown hair with endless love.

“Either you come with me or I stay here with you,” McCree whispers, rocking them both into his arms. “You’re my home.”

“We can have it all, my love,” Hanzo says. “But your life…”

“I want none of it without you, my dear,” McCree grunts, squeezing him. “I love you more than life.” And he’s had a year of trying, a year to realize nothing fulfills him like this love, like Hanzo in his arms and the whole eternity at their feet.

McCree buries his face in the crook of his neck, distinguishing the cherry blossom scent that woke him up at night more often than not and pursued him for the rest of the day as the permanent reminder of his requited love. Because Hanzo left him because he loved him, that he knew the instant he read his words and, though he tried, living without him meant nothing when living by his side is all he ever craved. “I love you, Jesse,” Hanzo whispers, cherishing the gentle squeeze of the gunslinger and laughing at the sneeze that follows. “You will catch a cold if you do not change clothes.”

The gunslinger chuckles, cupping his face with both hands and caressing the high points of his cheekbones. He wants to relearn his face, trace every single inch of his skin with kisses and sink himself in the depths of their lovemaking. “I should take a shower.” The smug smile on Hanzo’s lips at the words put a furrow between his eyebrows. “I know that look and I usually love what comes right after.”

“Do you know what an onsen is?”

“I’d follow you to hell, darlin’,” McCree jests.

“Then I will show you my cozy hell,” Hanzo says while a smirk adorns his lips, squirming out of his hold and slowly turning around and glancing at him over his shoulder. “I am not drinking you cold.” The words curl McCree’s spine in sheer pleasure at the mere thought of the vampire’s fangs piercing his skin, so he follows closely. There was never the option of a life without Hanzo, not since the very first time he saw him and his beauty struck him like an unmerciful arrow. Right to the heart.

After a pleasant walk inside a typical Japanese house, McCree realizes how modestly Hanzo lives even if this is a castle. He lures him to his bedroom, the beauty and the simplicity there showing him a new side of the vampire, timeless, magical. It is as though this is his refuge, the most sacred place where he comes to feel safe and now, he’s sharing it with him unashamed and unreservedly. McCree leaves his belongings there, not a single question or doubt of where he will sleep, but as soon as he tries to catch him to sate a year of hankering for his body, Hanzo escapes from his kisses and bewitches him with that smirk he loves to bits.

The vampire guides him through an inner garden before he slides another shoji and they enter a bath completely covered in wood, but what really catches McCree’s eye is the far end where the house ends and the mountain mingles with it. The steam of the hot spring brings a smile to his face. Modesty with surely a few luxuries on the side. “This is like another world, darlin’,” he says.

“Our world.” Hanzo chuckles, sliding his kimono down his shoulders until it pools at his feet, stealing McCree’s smile and watching in awe how his Adam’s apple bobs impatiently in his throat. He likes to wear Japanese traditional clothes here because it reminds him of the past, of another era, so he stands in his fundoshi with a smug smile stretching his lips. “Take off your clothes,” he demands, folding his arms over his chest.

McCree has never peeled off his clothes faster in his whole life, discarding garment after garment in a bundle near a wooden bench. “You haven’t changed at all, darlin’,” McCree teases, toeing off his shoes and swooping down his jeans and underwear. “You got me naked faster than I expected.” He steps out of the bundle, standing in front of Hanzo in all his glorious nakedness.

In response, Hanzo removes his underwear and turns about, relishing in the loud grunt of appreciation from the gunslinger. “Come, sit here,” he says, pointing at a washing area and a little wooden stool. Hanzo fills a bucket with a floor level tap while McCree comes closer and sits funnily.

“A bit small for me this thing,” he teases. Hanzo kneels before him, his eyes treacherously roaming along the length of his body while his cold hands knead his thighs. “I’ve missed ya’.”

Hanzo locks eyes with him, leaning forward and pressing their lips together. “I have, too.” The vampire chooses a bar of scented soap from a basket nearby, foaming it gently between his hands with the help of warm water. He soaps McCree’s legs, and Hanzo flicks his eyes up to his face to relish in the blush on his face, not sure if by the steamy temperature in the private bath or his hands shamelessly stroking his skin.

“I can do that myself,” McCree mumbles with a half-smile.

“Then I would miss all the fun,” Hanzo teases, moving his hands up to his thighs and the ridges of the muscles in his stomach, noting the half hard-on growing in McCree’s groin.

“I ain’t complaining, sweetheart…” McCree clears his throat and Hanzo chuckles. The vampire soaps his chest in circles, recognizing old scars, dreading the new ones, gently taking care of his lover as he deserves, and he wishes to do for the rest of his eternal life. McCree lets his hair free from the tie, and Hanzo scoops water from the bucket with a small recipient and wets it while McCree washes it. “If your plan is to convince me to stay here, I already know I don’t wanna leave your side.”

“I want to take care of you,” Hanzo whispers, taking his lips in a surprisingly warm kiss before he moves to his back. “I will go wherever you go, my love.” Hanzo smiles to himself at how marvelous that sounds. “Here, London, I do not mind.”

“But not too soon,” McCree says, glancing back over his shoulder, already missing the vampire’s bedazzling beauty. “I’m on vacation.” He pours a few scoops of hot water over his head to wash away the soap on his hair while Hanzo rubs his back. The wet washcloth does a splashy noise on the floor when Hanzo drops it, ghosting his fingertips over a particularly terrifying wound he remembers all too well.

Hanzo felt the real meaning of fear that night when he held McCree into his arms and watched, horrified, the life escaping him unhurriedly but surely. He considered turning him right there to ensure his presence in this world, to keep him alive selfishly for himself, but he couldn’t, not like that, not when McCree had no real choice on the matter. It would have destroyed him, the doubts, the shadow of the past tarnishing their future for all eternity. Hanzo was ready to see him go, and it still shrinks his heart how close he was of losing him. He could live far away from him knowing McCree was alive, but the idea of him dying is still unbearable.

“Darlin’?” McCree calls him, clasping his hand with Hanzo’s over his shoulder while he closes his eyes, sharing the same thoughts of the vampire. Hanzo wraps his arms around him, pressing his cheek over the healed wound and feeling his heart beating strongly. “Hey, c’mere,” McCree whispers, turning about to receive him into his arms. The vampire hides his face in the warmth of his neck, pressing his lips in the pulse point that tightens his throat and awakens a desperate thirst in him. After a year without his blood, he aches for his taste too, but the only thing that soothes his soul are those hands caressing lovingly his back and threading in his hair.

“I thought I had lost you,” Hanzo mumbles.

“I’m here, and I’m fine,” McCree says, trapping his chin between his knuckles and finding crimson eyes craving for blood but portraying a sadness he wants to erase. And he will, year after year, century after century, with kisses, bites, making love to him until they are both exhausted and trapped in the timeless heaven of their bodies gliding against each other. He presses their foreheads together. “Don’t fight me on this,” he whispers, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. “I won’t leave you, I won’t abandon you, I love you…” Hanzo kisses him in a desperate moan, interrupting the kind words he always wanted to hear. Vampire or human, he doesn’t care, that is the promise his heart needed. “Don’t you dare leave me again, darlin’,” McCree mumbles into his mouth.

Hanzo smiles, biting gently his lower lip and sitting back on his calves as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I am yours,” he says, washing away the leftover soap from his body.

“By good right you are,” McCree teases with a wink. They share every smile and every kiss Hanzo stole from themselves this past year. His gunslinger is the same shameless flirt he remembered, unabashed of the now hard cock standing firmly between his legs and tempting Hanzo’s most inner desires. Hanzo grooms his cock with a hand full of soap, all the way from hilt to tip and back to tease his drawn-up balls. He busies himself in bathing McCree from the road and the trip so they can finally dive into the comforting hot waters of the natural onsen. Scoop after scoop, Hanzo arouses him and cleanses the remaining soap.

With a furtive kiss on his lips, Hanzo ensconces himself between his thighs, hands traveling dangerously low along the ridges of his muscles, his mouth nibbling and worshiping the skin and fuzz at his path. Hanzo glances up at a very flustered gunslinger, letting out the tip of his tongue out to flick over the engorged head of his cock while he braces himself on his thighs. “God, have I said how much I’ve missed ya’?” His hand cups his face while the other grips his cock by the hilt and offers it invitingly to the vampire.

“I am glad to see you are still as sappy as ever,” Hanzo says, pursing his lips and smearing the first droplets of pre-cum oozing from him. “And still so well endowed.” McCree rubs the tip of his cock over his velvety lips, groaning loudly at the soft touch and then the sharp tongue that sneaks on the underside as Hanzo parts his lips. He swoons at the bedazzling sight of Hanzo taking his cock halfway in as though he was starving for him, closing his eyes and humming a distant melody of pleasure.

Another loud moan fills the steamy atmosphere when Hanzo suckles at the engorged head and slides him inside in inch by inch. He does it so painstakingly McCree writhes for more, taking a handful of his hair to keep it out of the way and revel in his stretched lips surrounding his girth.

“Oh, darlin’,” he mumbles, all hooded lids and parted mouth as Hanzo ripples his mouth around his cock, swallowing him whole until his nose touches his knuckles. McCree removes his hand, pushing gently his nape and trashing his head back from sheer pleasure when Hanzo tightens his throat and accommodates his length inside his mouth. The vampire bobs his head, dragging him in and out of his sinful mouth with eagerness, longing for his cock and the endless pleasures he steals from him. “Careful there,” McCree moans, tugging at his hair to stop the unmerciful tempo Hanzo has set sucking his cock. “It’s been a while and I… damn,” he gasps.

Hanzo purrs low in his throat, curling McCree’s spine in desire and threatening to unleash the stream of lust the gunslinger struggles to hold back. He winds his arms around his waist, keeping his cock shoved inside him while he sucks and swallows around him as the most willing lover, chasing his prize. McCree desperately tries to buck his hips forward to fuck his mouth but has to surrender to Hanzo’s maddening sucking, letting his orgasm overflow him in an irrepressible wave, a hand on the back of his head and the other digging holes in Hanzo’s shoulder.

The vampire milks him dry, sucks and swallows his load while he moans, keeping his cock into the heavenly safety of his mouth and feeling it soften and jerk as McCree spills himself thoroughly in the depths of his throat. He cherishes and savors his prize, twirling his tongue around his half hard cock on his way out, pulling at his skin, suckling until McCree trembles at the overstimulation. Hanzo lets him go with one last kiss on his inner thigh and a mischievous smile on his lips. “Did you think I brought you here to bathe?” he teases, licking his spit-slicked lips while the gunslinger tries to catch his breath and chuckles.

“I was hoping to eat _you_ for a change, darlin’,” McCree jests, tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind his ear. Hanzo stands, his cock bouncing temptingly, and stretches a hand to him.

“I intend to cage you in my bed until you pass out,” Hanzo says, helping McCree stand while the gunslinger chuckles and strokes the back of his hand with a thumb. “Come.” The vampire grabs something from the display of toiletries on the basket and strolls his way to the steamy onsen.

“What do you have there?” McCree teases, holding Hanzo’s wrist while they step inside the water through a naturally carved stone stair that is a challenge for his wobbly legs. The vampire grants him a devilish grin, placing into this hand a small oil bottle. “Oh,” McCree gasps.

“Will you get me ready for you?” Hanzo says, ghosting his fingers away over his hand as he goes down the stair and his luscious body disappears under the foggy surface of the water. McCree follows him with a dopey smile and an impertinent cock fighting to get hard again.

“Always.” His wolfish grin accompanies him as he joins Hanzo, surprised at the hot water enveloping his body and taking away all the cold and unpleasant stress of the long travel here. He knew he’d find him home the moment he spotted Genji’s mischievous smile teasing him, mentioning Hanamura and hinting where his brother was for the season. As Hanzo sits on an underwater stony bench on the edge of the onsen, McCree spins around in the water, palms hovering over the surface and undulating the water as he admires the blue sky and the cold air that doesn’t dare to reach the steam fuming up the hot spring.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Hanzo says, arching an eyebrow at him. McCree turns about with the sweetest smile, ambling toward him and producing little noises as he moves in the water.

“I should’ve looked for you here sooner,” McCree teases, sinking himself to his shoulders in the warm water only to rise up again, taking a seat beside Hanzo. He fidgets with the oil bottle between his fingers. The vampire grabs his arm and wraps it around his shoulders, snuggling into him and landing a kiss near a wet, brown nipple.

“I should have never left you,” Hanzo whispers, accepting the gentle squeeze of the gunslinger on his shoulder. “But I wanted to give you a chance to break free of me.”

“And I thank you for it, darlin’,” McCree says, kissing the crown of his head. Hanzo presses a hand on his chest and swivels about to look at him with a furrow between his eyebrows. “I never doubted your love for a second.”

“I knew you would come to me,” Hanzo says with a slight purse of his lips, standing for a moment and locking his legs at both sides of McCree, straddling him. “You were utterly besotted with me.” A loud laugh leaves the gunslinger’s lungs as his hands grope for his ass under water, the little bottle disturbing the kneading of that perfect vampire ass.

“I still am, sweetheart,” McCree drawls. “And I remember you were soft down with my cock…” he teases, enduring Hanzo’s nudging as he bites and kisses the perfect skin on his neck and down his collarbone. The vampire moans, rocking into his embrace and hoping those lips travel down his nipples.

“You better do not lose that oil because I am not in the mood to fetch another one from my chambers,” Hanzo chides, reaching behind him and stealing the bottle from McCree’s hand. The gunslinger fondles his ass as a wolfish grin creeps up his face, pulling him onward and tracing an invisible line of kisses down his sternum.

“Have you been naughty without me?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows. This past year has been a lonely one for him, it seemed meaningless to look for lovers when he was looking for Hanzo. His heart felt the need to be faithful to the love that spurred him on every dawn.

“I have taken no lovers since we were together,” Hanzo says with a curl of the lips, relishing in the gentle smile that grows wide on McCree’s lips. “If that fulfills your curiosity.” The vampire snatches McCree’s hand and pours a generous amount of oil on his fingers, leaving the bottle near the edge.

“But you were naughty,” McCree teases with a smug grin, leading his hand right between Hanzo’s butt cheeks and prodding gently as he smears the slippery oil along his rim. Hanzo’s softened features encourage him to push a finger inside.

“I thought about you every time,” Hanzo moans, bracing himself on McCree’s shoulders as the gunslinger fucks him with a determined finger. He traps his mouth in a wet kiss to prevent more noises coming out of his mouth at how much he has missed his deft fingers. Doing this to himself in nights where he missed his touch and his weight on top, was a cruel torture he endured every now and then, chased by the heated memories of their time together and new fantasies lurking his mind. They were reunited in every single one of them.

“There is nothing out there better than you, darlin’,” McCree whispers into his mouth. “Better than this.” He squeezes another finger in Hanzo’s ass, feeling how tightly he clenches around them. Hanzo threads his fingers into his damp hair, twisting his head to a side as he bares his fangs menacingly and pushes his hips down into his fingers, losing the little self-control he had until now.

“I have dreamed of this,” Hanzo growls, ghosting his fangs over the sensitive skin of his neck at the same time he revels in the lingering burn of those fingers fucking his ass. “Your blood, your heartbeat,” he licks the length of an artery, his spine curling in the most delicious knot at the enrapturing temptation.

McCree pants, his ragged breath anticipating what is about to happen, his cock hardening instantly at the mere thought of Hanzo’s fangs on him again. It infuriates him how he plays him, and he spreads his fingers, softening the muscle, unhurriedly but invaded by an untold eagerness. McCree silently begs for a bite. “Don’t you dare ask for permission.” The last word echoes in the onsen at the same time Hanzo pierces his flesh in a bite that hurts and stings but in the most delicious way possible. McCree whines at the unexpected sucking force pulling at his flesh and stealing his life away, mapping the expanse of Hanzo’s back until he rests his hand on his nape and keeps him there, feasting on him as he’s been dreaming for the past year.

The vampire lets out a guttural growl while he gulps down a mouthful of blood, sucking demandingly a few times, desperation and thirst ruling his mind before he realizes he has to slow down, lapping and kissing his flesh as the hot, delectable gush of blood trickles down inside his throat as pleasurably as the cum of the gunslinger did earlier. Hanzo hides his face in the crook of his neck, ashamed of himself and the eagerness inherit in his nature. “I did not mean to be harsh,” he apologizes.

“Still good?” McCree teases, soothing his lover, reassuring him. He is delighted by his teeth and will endure any pain if this is his reward. Hanzo leaves the refuge of his neck and meets his gaze, a new shade of red adorning his beautiful eyes.

“You are my favorite snack,” he whispers, locking their mouths together for a kiss to muffle McCree’s chuckle. “Now work me open, gunslinger.”

“There’s my whimsical bottom,” McCree says, parting his mouth and tasting his own blood on Hanzo’s lips. It’s a strange sensation that comes so naturally with him that scares him, how did they think they would survive without the other? How foolish and naïve they have been, believing this was not meant to be? McCree pours his frustration into the many kisses they share.

“More,” Hanzo mumbles, swaying his hips and trying to fuck himself on his fingers, defeated by McCree’s mocking chuckle as he nibbles his lips. Hanzo pouts, reaching behind himself with a hand and squeezing one of his own fingers along with the bundle. Hanzo moans an exhale, wishing the lingering burn came from his thick cock.

“You’re killing me, darlin’,” McCree says, burying his fingers deep inside, his cock hard and ready since those fangs pierced him, wanting to sink himself in his body.

“Not yet,” Hanzo says with a smirk that vanishes at a gauged thrust from McCree’s fingers. The vampire reaches for the oil, empties a generous amount in his hand and quickly dives it in the water to find McCree’s impossibly hard length waiting for him. He wraps a hand around him and tugs demandingly, his own cock so hard and ready a single brush would send him over the edge.

McCree rests his forehead on Hanzo’s shoulder as the vampire jerks him off, driving him mad and desperate. “I want you,” he mumbles, leaving him empty of his fingers and glancing up at him with that familiar lovestruck that curls his stomach nice and warm. Hanzo lifts his hips and positions the tip of his cock right into his hole.

“I wanted you since I saw you,” Hanzo moans, slowly pushing down until his girth breaches in and stretches him how he needed. His cock is hot, and wet, and so hard it’s like a dream come true. Hanzo sits on his lap impatiently, winding both arms around his neck and fighting the lingering burn at the wonderful stretch. He cannot wait to be full of him.

“Oh god, you’re tight,” McCree whispers, both his hands fondling his ass, using all his self-control to stop the irrepressible urge to fuck into him as though it was the end of the world. Wouldn’t be a nightmare to wake up now? Hanzo rocks on top of him, taking him in at every sway of his hips, getting himself ready for the thick root of his cock. “Ya’ okay, darlin’?” McCree traces circles with his thumbs on his ass, kissing Hanzo’s cheek tenderly, the rest of his fingers caressing the place they are joined, sending a jolt of pleasure through the vampire.

“I want you whole,” Hanzo whispers into his mouth, the melody of McCree’s ragged breath and his moans now seasoned by the noises of the water as he rides him. McCree takes his mouth and thrusts his tongue inside, his hips gently pushing upward in unison with Hanzo, but the vampire escapes his mad kisses and hides a devilish grin on the crook of his neck.

“Bite me, darlin’,” McCree whispers, his fingertips digging holes in his butt cheeks while a hand travels to the front and gently wraps around Hanzo’s hard cock. McCree moans when he bites him. His cock jerks beautifully into his hand and he rocks his hips fucking himself with him in an animalistic urge to own him in every single way possible. McCree yields. They are so desperate for each other he fears exhausting himself on his body and lacking the stamina he needs to sate the vampire.

Hanzo moans and sucks more blood out of him, satiating partially his need and knowing he won’t last long. His hips move on his own, that marvelous, gorgeous cock thrusting in and out of him, filling him exactly how he craves, how he dreamed, how he wants to be filled for the rest of his days. McCree traces circles on the underside of his cock with a callous thumb. Smart, teasing lover giving him so little but the right amount to doom him. Hanzo latches on his neck, his mouth overflowing, his tongue trying to wipe and savor every trickle of blood down his neck and his own chin, but there is no use, Hanzo is out of control, and braces himself on his shoulders while he sucks at his flesh and fucks himself faster, deeper, that damn thumb teasing, massaging, and making him climax with a low groan muffled by a mouthful of his flesh and a hot gush of blood.

“That’s it, darlin’,” McCree whispers, his hand enveloping his cock and stroking him fully to draw out his orgasm. “Take all you want, trap me in there.” Hanzo’s ass clenches around his cock forcefully, almost painfully so, but he peppers kisses on a side of his head while Hanzo laps and stops the bleeding on his neck with tenderness. McCree’s cock shoved halfway inside him, enduring the torture as the vampire spills himself underwater. When Hanzo straightens to look at him with glazing black eyes McCree grins. “That was fast…” Hanzo pouts and nudges him, cleaning with the back of his hand the reproachful trails of blood dripping down his chin.

“I enjoy your blood too much,” Hanzo says, licking his lips which are tinted in a beautiful red and rocking gently on his cock as soon as he relaxes.

“It’s yours ‘til the last drop,” McCree swears, impatiently bucking his hips up.

“Do not worry, gunslinger,” Hanzo says, sliding his tongue on McCree’s parted mouth. “I intend to cherish your life and then love you and fuck you for all eternity.”

“Sounds like a plan,” McCree teases, turning them around until Hanzo’s upper back leans on the rocky edge. He sheathes deeper into the vampire in a smart thrust, and they both moan in unison. Hanzo smirks mischievously, baring a pair of fangs as he lifts a leg over McCree’s shoulder while the gunslinger hooks the other on the pit of his elbow. “You’re not the only one with needs to sate, darlin’.” A knee on the small seat and a foot on the bottom keeps him upright.

“Promises, promises,” Hanzo croons, challenging McCree and bracing himself at the edge, anticipating the onslaught as McCree pulls out of him until the very tip and shoves himself back in balls-deep. Hanzo groans, trashing his head back and chuckling at how immensely happy he is at this very moment.

“I’d promise you the world,” McCree whispers into his ear, fucking into him in deep short thrusts goaded by sheer lust. His lips rove down his throat, kissing and nibbling as his hands grope once more for Hanzo’s ass under the steamy water. The heat starts to feel unbearable, but nothing would stop him now. He keeps him positioned where he wants, angling his ass right into his hard, throbbing cock and swivels forward seeking his end.

“Do not stop,” Hanzo moans, threading his fingers into his damp hair and tugging to spur him on. McCree grins triumphantly, taking everything he wanted and more, sinking himself in the depths of his body over, and over, his tongue tracing the sumptuous line of his throat and down his chest, sucking unmercifully on a rosy nipple and eliciting a toe-curling moan from his vampire. “Oh, Jesse,” Hanzo whispers, glancing down at him, at them fucking and wondering if his eyes tell blatant lies or the love of his life is truly there to stay and cherish him forever.

McCree meets his gaze, thrusting in and out, dreading the end of this afternoon delight he wished to elongate in time. “I found you,” he whispers into his nipple, leaning forward to land a peck on his lips while his hips work relentlessly. “And you’re mine.” Hanzo sobs, urging a hand underneath the water to wrap around his half-hard cock and squeeze another orgasm out of his needy body. He jerks himself fast, without taking his eyes off of him, witnessing the grimace of pleasure on his lover’s face as McCree spills himself.

A mean thrust sends him over the edge, trapped by the body of his lover, his cock twitching and leaking pearlescent stripes of lust inside Hanzo while he pants into his mouth, and squeezes his ass. “All yours,” Hanzo whispers with the sweetest smirk of all. McCree’s ragged breath puffs on his neck, still rocking into him and refusing to leave his embrace until his cock slips outside and into the clear water they tarnished with their lovemaking.

“I’d die a happy man now with the taste of your kisses on my lips,” McCree whispers, hooded lids and swollen lips promising the world.

“Jesse…” Hanzo whispers, ghosting his lips over his mouth while McCree unhooks his legs and wraps both arms around his waist to keep him close. Hanzo surrenders, trapping him in a cage of limbs as they kiss madly, his gunslinger flustered and sweaty by the hot steam.

“Don’t you realize I can’t be without you, darlin’.” McCree floats them to the middle of the onsen, right beneath the white sun of winter to see the perfect beauty of his lover as clearly as ever. There is nothing between them, two souls entwined for as long as they walk the earth. “Will you turn me?” Hanzo chuckles adorably, kissing the tip of his nose and playing with the loops his hair traces on the water.

“When your hair is grey and a lifetime by my side has not worn you out,” he says, arching a questioning eyebrow at the gunslinger.

“Just don’t wait ‘til my dick don’t work anymore, darlin’,” McCree teases with a wink and steals a clear, lovely laugh from Hanzo. This kind of rapture they experience is impossible to hide.

“Jesse, say that again,” Hanzo purses his lips as McCree spins them into the water.

“What?” McCree furrows. “That I’d die for your pretty ass?”

“No,” Hanzo pouts, a chuckle threatening to ruin his childish gesture.

“That I love you more than life?”

“Yes.”

“Well, damn me if I don’t,” McCree says, staring into the depths of his eyes knowing he is finally home at the side of a deathless lover that is more than anything he could have ever asked. Hanzo will fulfill his promise, after a quarter of a century together, living, sharing, and cherishing their love, Hanzo will turn the gunslinger into his kind, waking him up with the breath of death to commit to an eternity loving each other above time, wars, and meaningless fights. Time will slow down for them. Their ageless love story will be retold over the years by the people in Hanamura, how the gunslinger and the Shimada heir found happiness forevermore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading until the end! ♡〜٩( ╹▿╹ )۶〜♡
> 
> All your sweet comments and kudos helped me write this and infused me with motivation when I needed it the most.  
> See y'all in the next one ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ (which is coming very soon...)
> 
> Update: Our amazing Captain did it again, blessing me with beautiful, smutty art of my fic <333 Give her some well-deserved love on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SleeplessCap/status/1131538665782566912) (˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ๑)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Suggestions, corrections and comments are more than welcomed ╭( ･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ ˂ᵒ͜͡ᵏᵎ⁾✩


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